


A Life Full of Laughter

by elfin



Series: Intersections [1]
Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26155420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: They rescued John from Mars, but at what cost?
Relationships: John Sheridan/Jack Maynard, Michael Garibaldi/John Sheridan
Series: Intersections [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899340
Comments: 7
Kudos: 5





	A Life Full of Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE HEED THESE WARNINGS  
> This story follows the episode, Intersections In Real Time. There are descriptions of past torture, mental and physical abuse and injury, some of which is canon, some of which is based on methods used for coercion. There are brief mentions of past object rape as torture. Please DO NOT READ THIS if you’re not comfortable.  
>   
> The character death warning relates to the bad guys. All intimate interaction described in detail is loving and consensual.  
> AUTHOR’S BABBLE  
> This is a complete re-write of my old story, For A Day Of Laughter. That was written back when S5 of Babylon 5 was airing.  
>   
> I’ve re-watched the show, start to finish, except for four episodes. I’ve realised how it inspired so much h/c fiction for all its characters. Also, it seems like I never really got over seeing the bar scene in FotE or the whole of IIRT.  
>   
> Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, I’ve improved in my craft over the years, and I’ve ended up with a somewhat different fic than it used to be, even if the basic story is the same. For those who’ve read the original version, the major change is the relationship between John Sheridan and Jack Maynard. He was always in this fic, but there’s a very different slant on his involvement now. Having re-watched S4 and S5, I can't wrap my brain around John and Michael getting back together after everything that happened.  
>   
> RE: Coffee: yes, I know coffee wasn’t easy to get hold of and was expensive to grow. But maybe a particularly entrepreneurial marketplace store owner found a nearby planet with a lot of spare space and the perfect weather for growing it….  
>   
> B5: Some stuff around the geography of the station, the medical facilities and food is almost certainly wrong. Apologies for that. Best just to go with it.  
>   
> Canon: Susan is fine, she wasn't hurt in the battle. Therefore Marcus is fine. Michael isn't stabbed in the rescue.  
>   
> Lastly, IIRT itself. Like I said, I’ve re-watched the show, but I won’t ever re-watch IIRT. At the time, someone in the .net email group I was a member of forwarded a document detailing the steps involved in torture and coercion. Many details are based on that document. And whether Sheridan has 'TV hero insurance' or not, seven days of abuse and torture should not have been passed off as 'it wasn't that bad'. Really, JMS?  
>   
> Ps. It struck me those not quite as obsessed as me might not remember who Jack Maynard even is... he was the Captain of the Cortez in Season 2's A Distant Star, played by the wonderful Russ Tamblyn.  
>   
>    
> The second part, Serenity, has also been entirely re-written and posted.  
> The original story is available by request.  
>   
> UPDATED: Dec 2020, new scenes added  
> 

**A LIFE FULL OF LAUGHTER**

Sheridan turned when Marcus called to him across the White Star command deck. ‘Captain? There’s a transmission coming in for you, from the Agamemnon.’

‘Put it through.’ 

Captain Jack Maynard’s smiling face appeared on the screen. ‘Hello, Swamp Rat.’

*

Stepping from the transport, John saw Jack and felt something give inside him. ‘Hey, Johnny.’ They hugged each other tight. ‘Still causing trouble everywhere you go.’

He was too strung out to laugh. ‘It is so good to see you.’

‘You too, Johnny.’ He stepped back, hands resting on John’s arms. ‘I just wish the circumstances were better.’

They headed for the bridge. ‘Can’t tell you how relieved I was when you contacted me. There’ve been EarthForce captains firing on civilian targets, firing at us. I knew you wouldn’t ever follow an illegal order and I hoped - prayed once or twice, although I’m not sure who to - you were still alive, still safe, out on the rim.’

‘You know me, John, I would never fire first unless provoked, although Clarke’s given me a lot of provocation. The Cortez was attacked by the Leto as we jumped back into normal space close to Io. The Agamemnon was already engaged in a firefight with it, so it could have been a wrong place, wrong time situation. Nevertheless, the Cortez and the Leto were destroyed. Most of us were lucky and made it to the lifeboats; Commander Kate Paver picked us up. Sadly, Captain James was killed a few weeks ago. Kate had been acting Captain, she asked me to take over.’ 

The bridge was being staffed by a combination of Captain James’ crew and the survivors from the Cortez’s command. John recognised Pat, Jack’s second. 

With a flourish, Jack swept one arm out in a semi-circle. ‘And now she’s yours again.’

‘Ah. Not quite yet….’

‘What do you mean, not quite yet?’

John hesitated. ‘I have to go to Mars.’

*

‘This is so stupid! It’s a trap, John! Surely you can see that?’

‘Michael and I have had our differences, but he wouldn’t hurt me.’

Jack knew he sounded borderline frantic but he had to try. ‘I’ve seen that ISN interview. Whatever he used to be, he isn’t a fan of yours now. Maybe he’s got no choice; maybe they’re holding someone he cares about. You said it yourself, your contacts can’t verify Garibaldi’s story. Your dad might be safe and sound on Earth.’

‘I can’t take that risk. If I don’t go and they… kill him, I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘Then let me go. Let me talk to Michael, get the truth.’

‘Absolutely not.’

Jack gripped his arms, desperate to make him see sense. ‘Listen to me. Please. You’re what’s known as a high value target. Clarke gets his hands on you, God knows what they’ll do to you.’

Lifting his hands to Jack’s elbows, John tried to placate him. ‘Right. And if it is a trap, and you show in my place, they’ll put a PPG shot in your brain and leave your body where it drops. I won’t risk that, I won’t risk you. I started this, it’s up to me to end it.’

‘If they get their hands on you, they will end it. They won’t just arrest you, John, they’ll use you to turn the tide, and in order to do that they’ll have no choice but to employ some very nasty tactics.’ 

‘I know the risk. If I don’t come back, join the fleet, follow Susan and free Earth. Promise me.’ Jack shook his head, but he'd never had the will to deny John anything. ‘I have to go.’

‘I know you do,’ he admitted. ‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it.’ John squeezed his shoulder. 

‘I’m really glad you’re here, Jack. I’ve missed you.’

Reaching up, he covered the hand on his shoulder with his own. ‘I’ve missed you too, John.’ He felt like there was so much more to say, but for the life of him, he couldn’t put any of it into words. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘I promise.’

*

From the start the rescue was a military operation executed with precision timing to achieve a single goal. 

Seven days since the fight in the bar; if it could have been called a fight. A lamb attacked by wolves; drugged, defenceless and weak, John had fallen slowly, fighting even as the tranquilliser had exploded through his system and brought him down from the inside as the brutes attacking him brought him down from without.

Using Garibaldi’s credentials, the small band of rescuers found John in an interrogation cell, killing whoever they needed to to get to their prize. When he saw him, Michael’s heart broke anew.

Despite being held by metal restraints at his neck, wrists and ankles, the prisoner still slumped in the straight-backed metal chair. His eyes, barely open, attempted to focus first on Stephen, then on Michael. Words fell from his dry lips, mumbled and disjointed, yet audibly a vague threat aimed at Garibaldi. Michael heard it, resolutely determined not to let emotion interfere with what wasn’t going to be an easy escape. He didn’t dare meet the milky, uneven gaze of the man he’d called friend, even lover.

Not daring to fire at the control panel in case he fused it, he used up a few of their precious seconds working out the correct pattern that would release the restraints, and once freed, John fell forward into the doctor’s waiting arms. When he tried to push him back, to get him to sit upright, he started to struggle, weakened and ineffectual, but he wanted out of that chair. 

’John, you have to sit still for me.’ There was a narrow collar around his throat, matching cuffs at his wrists. ‘Michael, see if there’s a remote for these on the body.’ For one, terrible moment he thought Stephen meant to use them to subdue John... then he dismissed that thought. He searched the dead interrogator’s pockets, finding a small, black fob, clicking the button with a key symbol on it. There were three faint clicks, and he watched the doctor remove the devices gently. John seemed to calm down a little then, but he remained obviously and understandably agitated.

‘Michael, hold him up for me, but be careful.’

Standing behind the chair, Michael put one arm around John’s chest and shoulders, being as gentle as he could be, stoically ignoring the ineffectual struggle against him, the protests and obvious fear. Stephen started a cursory examination, checking for any injuries that might halt their escape, but John was fighting every touch.

Stephen put a gentle hand to his face. ‘John, you have to calm down. We’re here to help you, to get you out of here and to do that, I need to see what the damage is.’

He could see evidence of so much already. Taking a penlight from his pocket, he shone it into John’s eyes and the response was immediate; a choked-off cry, eyes screwing shut, terror and pleas.

‘I’m sorry.’ He glanced back at Lyta and hissed, ‘Make him understand!’

They watched as she came forward, into the cell, tried to reach into the captain’s mind. She lasted no more than a second, pulling back, shaking her head. 

‘I can’t. It’s too scrambled; reality and fiction. He doesn’t know which is which.’

‘Shit.’ He had no choice but to carry on. He skimmed his hands from bloodied ankles up to swollen knees, leaving the thighs and genitals, not wanting to panic John more than he was doing, and suspecting his reaction to that would be nothing short of it. He pressed gently around the abdomen, finding more swelling. Further up, ribs were broken, several fingers, his wrists were a mess, there were cuts and burn marks on his throat, bruising everywhere Stephen could see, and needle marks on his left arm. Removing the IV carefully, Stephen could only hope the other marks were from more of the same. John was obviously in pain, but they had him drugged up to the eyeballs so while he seemed lucid enough to know something was happening, he clearly didn’t know what.

When Stephen stood, Michael asked, ‘How bad?’

‘Bad. There’s nothing I can do for him here. We need to move. Help me get him up.’

Michael took point, Stephen and Lyta half-carrying, half-dragging Sheridan between them. This was their one chance. If they were captured they would die. Michael had sworn to himself that he would take John with him if that happened, that he wouldn’t let Clarke’s men finish what they’d started. John wouldn’t want to be a pawn in Clarke’s game, but he definitely wasn’t going to hold out much longer.

The guards at the gate were never going to fall for the limp explanation Garibaldi fed them.

A rapid firefight followed. Stephen and Lyta had no choice but to let go of Sheridan to defend themselves. Michael saw it, watched as Sheridan stumbled and reached out to steady himself, saw him spot a PPG next to the hand of unconscious guard. Picking it up, John managed to hold it awkwardly between his hands and somehow, with broken fingers, unload the clip into the guard on the ground. Nine shots. The man was dead after the first.

The PPG slipped from John’s grip, clattered to the concrete, and he looked up, directly at Michael, some sort of recognition flashing over his pale face.

'Captain?'

Michael would have sworn he’d answered, I’m fine,’ but in the next moment, John's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was following the weapon down. Michael leapt over the dead man, making a grab for Sheridan, managing to catch his shoulders before he crumpled.

With the last of the guards down, Stephen looked around. ‘Has he been hit?’

Glancing up, eyes wide, Michael shook his head.

The two of them hoisted the unconscious man up between them and followed Lyta as she led the way back through the labyrinth of tunnels, away from this hellhole.

One more short-lived encounter with the enemy, and they cleared the central staging area. Beyond that, out towards the main perimeter, there was little to no security, as if they hadn’t expected a rescue attempt while they were still on Mars. Perhaps Clarke had imagined that the resistance would wait, or that there would be no rescue, that the rebels were too busy to risk their lives for the life of one man. Maybe they’d underestimated his importance. They definitely hadn’t factored in the determination of Michael Garibaldi to their plans; a man only recently released from his own prison, resolved to see Sheridan freed or dead.

As soon as they were underground, they stopped. Michael and Stephen lowered John to the dusty floor, Michael doing a sweep of the perimeter to check they weren’t being followed while Stephen performed a more extensive examination of his patient than he’d been able to in the cell. 

He didn’t need a toxicology scan to tell that Sheridan had been poisoned. The colour of his skin and the dilation of his eyes pointed to drugs having been used beyond the tranq in the bar a week ago. The trouble would be working out which ones, and trying to counteract them without doing further damage. The needle-marks in his arm looked as if they were from several IV drips hurriedly administered and hastily removed. Rather than direct injection, it was more likely they’d added toxins to his food; physical and psychological torture all in one. It was likely, after all this time, that the chemicals had made their way to his organs and muscle tissue, that he was still being poisoned. If they’d been feeding him like that all week, chances were that his stomach lining would be ruptured, along with other damage to his digestive system. Stephen had counteragents and anti-toxins back at the resistance base, but there was still a way to go before they reached that level of safety.

There was substantial evidence of several severe beatings. Bones broken in the initial bar brawl had started to knit with deformities. Cuts sustained in that same fight, and no doubt in subsequent acts of brutality, had become infected. He’d brought broad spectrum antibiotics, they were back at the base too. He could only hope they would be enough. Boot marks were obvious on John’s arms, on his torso, throat, likely in other places mostly hidden by his torn clothing. There would be more broken bones along with internal injury and bleeding. 

‘Doc?’ Stephen sat back, looked up at Michael where he was leaning over his shoulder.

'He should be dead.'

'But he isn’t.' There was a desperate kind of hope in Garibaldi’s voice.

‘I don’t know how long he can hold on.’

‘He’ll hold on. He’s a survivor.’

Stephen was saved from having to temper Michael’s faith by Lyta saying, ‘we have to go.’ Whatever she’d sensed, or heard, he knew she was right. The trail of dead and wounded they’d left would soon be noticed and followed like breadcrumbs out to where they were.

Stephen apologised to Sheridan as they hauled him once again to his feet. If he was conscious of anything, he didn’t show it. 

*

Felicia, the one resistance group member Number One had assigned to the rescue, was waiting for them. A raised eyebrow was her only reaction to their victorious yet subdued return. From her expression, Stephen guessed she hadn’t expected them to have Sheridan with them, or hadn’t expected them back at all, and either way she didn’t care.

When they finally reached the resistance base, Number One’s reaction was much the same. She showed them to the makeshift infirmary without comment, and they got Sheridan onto one of the low canvas beds before Stephen shooed everyone else out.

Getting an IV line set up was the first hurdle. The veins in John’s arms wouldn’t be raised and finally he had to opt for putting in a central line; a semi-permanent, multi-port IV cannula running straight into a chest artery. He started saline, antibiotics, anti-toxins and counteragents for the most common drugs known to be used during government interrogations. 

The rank stench from the cell was on John’s clothes, which Stephen cut away carefully, separating cloth from skin with some difficulty, especially in places where it had acted as a bandaid, dried blood and early scar tissue holding it in place. The smell was on his body too; stale sweat, urine, excrement, vomit. Basic hygiene was something they'd obviously deprived him of. Stephen filled a tin bowl with lukewarm water and gently washed away the filth, revealing a horrific catalogue of injuries. 

He swabbed, stitched and dressed each of the open wounds. The skin around John’s ankles and wrists had been rubbed raw by shackles and his right wrist was broken. Three fingers on his right hand and two on his left were broken, but the little finger on his left was shattered. Stephen didn’t think he’d be able to save it. He put a brace on his wrist and set his fingers, strapping them together in pairs; index and middle fingers, rings and pinkies. He bandaged both arms from shoulder to wrist because there was at least one fracture in the right, three in the left. His legs had fared slightly better, although he suspected there were fractures in his ankle. There was swelling around his left knee, and his thighs and genitals were severely bruised. There was bruising too around his eyes, mouth and jaw. His pupils were unequally dilated, evidence of multiple concussions, and Stephen would have put money on a couple of skull fractures as a result of whatever had caused them. 

He wrapped John’s chest to support a couple of likely cracked or broken ribs, while he could only hope that the ones damaged a week ago in the bar fight and in the first stages of knitting back weren’t presenting a danger to his heart or lungs. There was nothing he could do about any internal damage, and he was certain there was some, particularly around John’s abdomen. There wasn’t the set-up to perform surgery, and quite frankly that was terrifying, because he knew if Sheridan regained consciousness enough to stand, he was going to have to send him into battle with injuries that could kill him. He really needed to be in MedLab, under intensive care, with the technology that could save his life and make the first steps on the long road to recovery as painless as possible. 

Right now, they didn’t have that option.

At Stephen’s request, Number One scared up some clean clothes from a guy two sizes larger than John had been when he’d been taken. She helped him dress his patient, her attitude a little less impersonal after she saw the extent of John’s injuries. Then Stephen sat back and for an hour he kept watch over his captain. John was somewhere between unconsciousness and sleep, not sedated. He’d barely stirred while Stephen had worked but this wasn’t a coma. This was something else. Lyta had said his mind was chaotic, a jumbled mess of the real and imagined, fake memories, imposed ideas and reinforced triggers. Stephen wasn’t a psychologist, he only had the vaguest of clues about where to start unpicking the results of interrogation techniques, psychological torture and programming. Their best hope was John himself when it came to healing the damage inflicted on his mind.

After a time, John did start to come around. Crouching by the bed, Stephen managed to catch the word ‘water’. He filled a glass, held the back of John’s head and tipped the liquid over his lips, into his mouth. He took a few sips, which was a start, before his shoulders dropped and Stephen lay his head back on the thin pillow, resting his hand against sweat-damp, greasy hair for a moment before standing.

For a man in his condition, John was lightening fast. He somehow managed to grab the PPG from the holster strapped loosely around Stephen’s waist, and while his aim was hampered by his bandaged arms, broken wrist and fingers, he did look like he meant to use it. Stephen took a step back with a shout that was more surprise than anything, but it brought Garibaldi and Lyta running.

Sheridan’s hold on the PPG was surprisingly steady, but his muddled brain didn’t know who to aim at and the weapon wavered. When he spoke, it sounded as if his throat was lined with sandpaper.

'I know whatcha doing.' His words were slow and slurred. 'Might as well stop. Pointless.' A small cut in his top lip opened up, blood beginning to drip into his mouth. 'I won’t do what you want.'

Hands out in front of him, Stephen took a half-step forward. 'John, it’s me, Stephen. This is real. You’re safe.'

John looked at him with an expression of such utter despair, he actually felt tears welling in his eyes. 

‘You won’t fool me again. I know….' Sheridan looked over to where Garibaldi was standing, Lyta at his side. 'You think he’d be here if this was real?' With some effort he turned his aim on Michael. 'I could shoot him. Won’t do any good but I could….' Michael tensed but he didn’t move. Stephen wondered if he would do anything to save himself, or let him take the shot. 

John coughed, a painful hacking noise that made the doctor wince. The effort of holding the PPG up become too much and he lowered it into his lap. Stephen let out the breath he was holding, but instead of dropping the weapon, John turned it awkwardly on himself. 'I could kill me.'

In the split second between the whine of the PPG powering up and the shot being fired, Michael somehow made it to the bed, snatching the gun from John’s weak grasp. The discharge miraculously missed them both, taking a chunk out of the wall behind them. John made a sound like a terrified animal, scrambled to get away from the imagined assault, and the canvas bed, unstable at the best of times, tipped over, dumping him on the hard ground, ripping the IV needle from his chest, jarring every broken and fractured bone, pulling on every stitch. 

His scream, if that’s what it could be called, was terrible to hear. 

Stephen was with him in a moment, Lyta helping right the bed and lift him back onto it. He tried to fight them with what little strength he had rapidly dwindling, doing more damage to himself than to them. Once again, Lyta tried to get into his head, and this time, going by the look on her face and the way John suddenly stoped struggling, she succeeded.

‘What did you do?’ Stephen asked, half relieved, half worried.

‘I gave him a certainty he can hold on to; that he’s safe and among friends.’

It seemed to work. John watched Stephen as he gently re-inserted the IV needed and taped it in place, checked his stitches and other injuries for any signs the sudden movements had made things worse. Which was almost laughable; Stephen wasn’t sure things could get much worse. When he was done, he knelt next to the bed and stroked John’s hair until his eyes closed and he drifted into something approximating sleep.

*

Garibaldi studied the plans the resistance had managed to steal or sketch of the enemy bases set up on Mars. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Number One pacing the outer hall, waiting impatiently for something, anything, to happen. There was still a war to be fought, still battles to be won, still millions to be freed. For Michael, John's freedom was enough. For her, it wasn't even close.

'We don’t have this kind of time to waste,’ she muttered at him. 'We rescued him so that he could lead us.'

Michael glanced at her. 'As I recall, you couldn’t spare the resources to rescue him at all. Stephen, Lyta and I did that. And what state exactly did you expect us to find him in? He wasn't being kept in a hotel suite with fucking room service!' He took a deep breath. ‘They had him for seven days. We found him locked into a metal chair, all the fluids that should have been inside on the outside, if you get what I'm saying? He's been beaten so badly there isn’t an inch of him that isn’t black, blue or purple. His reality's been destroyed, picked apart so they could rearrange it how they damn well liked! He's been through hell. So what he gets now is time, all the time he needs.'

'Time is something that's in woefully short supply around here, Garibaldi.'

She stared at him, standing inches from her, nose to nose with her. And then she looked away.

'I admit, I didn't expect him to be in such bad shape.' She stepped back a pace. 'And I know what they're capable of. I'm sorry.'

Michael shook his head, backing away. 'Nah, I’m sorry.' He took a deep breath. 'I caused that.’ He pointed in the direction of the makeshift infirmary. 'And it’s not what I was expecting either. It’s a million times worse.’

Stephen moved to John’s side when raised voices only yards away disturbed his rest. His eyes were open and he was staring straight ahead of him, staring at nothing. Deliberately placing himself in the captain’s line of sight, Stephen smiled.

'Hey.' 

John focused on him with some difficulty, pain evident in his expression. 

‘Water?' John's scratchy voice remained low, respectful. Stephen knew exactly what that meant. But for now he just told him of course, reached back and took up the glass he'd put on the table.

'Here you go.' Again, Stephen helped support his head, tipping the glass up when John tried to take it, frustrated by his bandaged hands. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got it. Just take sips.'

Sheridan drank down a few swallows and lay back slowly, still watching Stephen with suspicion. He busied himself by refilling the glass, staying close but trying to not be overbearing, not to rush John to do or say anything more until he was ready. 

Finally John managed a hesitant, single worded question. 'Where…?'

‘The resistance base on Mars.'

'How?'

'Garibaldi.' Stephen kept his voice quiet and even. 'He came to us, told us where to find you. He helped rescue you.'

With some considerable effort John pushed himself up into a sitting position and against his better judgement, Stephen didn’t try to stop him. He expected more questions, but John just looked down at himself, raising his hands to see why they’d been so useless to him in holding the glass.

‘John?’ He could see the slight tremble start in his captain’s shoulders; shock setting in. Taking a blanket from one of the other beds, he wrapped it around John’s shoulders, dropping to a crouch next to the bed. ‘It’s all right.’

‘What’s happening?’

It took Stephen a moment to interpret the question. ‘I can’t do any more for you here. You’ve been hurt, and I don’t have access to the things I need to help you. I’m sorry.’ 

'This is real?'

Stephen nodded. 'Yes, this is real. You know that, don’t you? You can sense it.' He hoped Lyta's message would remain strong in his mind.

John closed his eyes and rubbed at them with the heel of his left hand. 'What about… the fleet?'

Stephen hesitated. He knew he shouldn’t hold anything back now; they didn’t have much time. But to put his patient, still so weak, into a position where he had to act was something he was loathed to do.

'It’s fought its way here, to Mars. There have been heavy casualties, but they’re ready. They’re waiting.’

'Waiting for what?’

He forced himself to say it. ‘For you. I am so sorry. But everything’s in place. They need you to lead them.’

John took a deep, shuddering breath. 'Then I have to go.'

He couldn’t help but argue the point. 'John… you’re not in a great state, you know that as well as I do. I can pump you full of slow-release meds, but I'll be honest with you, I don't know how much more time you have if you don’t get the proper medical care. There is some serious internal damage and I don’t know… when it’s going to kill you.’ 

John nodded, a couple of jerky movements to say he understood, but didn’t have a choice. ‘I have to give them the time I’ve got.’

Reluctantly, Stephen set about getting him ready to travel. 

'There’s a transport ready to take you to the fleet. The last message from Ivanova requested that you dock back with the Agamemnon and command the battle from there. Jack Maynard’s waiting for you.’

A faint smile touched John's lips but it faded quickly, and again he rubbed his eyes with this hands.

‘Are they bothering you?'

'They itch.'

'You're beyond de-hydrated. Your stomach lining is most likely shot, so don’t attempt to eat anything. I’ll give you some saline bags to take with you, there’s a central IV port in your chest. It’s not pretty but it’s functional. Seriously, John, you're in no state to command an orchestra, never mind an army at war.'

'I know you've done everything you can.'

Stephen stared at his patient, already starting to beat himself up over the decision they were making. 'Tell me how you feel. And for once, please tell me the truth.'

John dropped his bandaged hands to his knees, subtle tremors running through his whole body. 'I’m tired, exhausted….’ He paused. 'I feel… like this body doesn’t belong to me. It’s broken. I'm broken.'

Stephen was suddenly overcome by an intensity of emotion so powerful that he had to breathe through it. There was nothing more he could do because there wasn’t time. His heart and mind were engaged in a battle neither could win. He was a doctor, he could not knowingly harm another living soul, and yet here he was, about to send a traumatised, critically injured man into battle.

'You’ve been so strong,' he murmured softly, 'and we need you to be strong for just a little longer.'

John nodded, looking at Stephen like he wasn’t sure he could keep his word this time. 'I’ll try.'

*

Before the rescue, Garibaldi had been like a man on hot coals. Now he was content just to wait, to see what happened next. Damn the universe. Damn them all if Stephen couldn't get Sheridan on his feet in time.

Number One was passing him, heading for the infirmary for an update on the captain’s condition, when John and Stephen appeared in the corridor.

Michael looked up, looked directly into John's eyes. There hadn’t been time to explain, there still wasn’t time, and he didn’t even know if John would care. But he at least knew Michael had come for him, helped rescued him, and for now it had to be enough.

Garibaldi kept it all business. He stepped up to them, eyes staying on Sheridan, asking carefully, 'How are you doing, John?’

'I’ve been better.’ He looked like a dead man walking and sounded about as confident as a new born. The clothes they’d dressed him in were all but hanging off him, covering the bandages and dressings, hiding the IV in his chest, although the tube snaking up and under his sweater, and the bag he held gingerly, were dead giveaways. He was pale under a week’s worth of stubble, eyes red, lips dry and cracked, standing with his weight on his right leg. Michael could see, just by looking at him, the pain he was enduring.

He glanced at Stephen. ‘How the fuck is this going to work?’ 

‘Hey, I’ve patched him up with gauze and sticky tape because that’s what you asked me to do. He needs surgery. He needs a whole raft of meds I don’t have. More than anything, he needs rest and calm. But what he’s going to get is war, and in the middle of it all, he may just drop dead.’

‘I am standing right here.’ They both looked at John as if they were surprised he was. ‘And I have a fleet to command.’

*

Stephen stepped down from the transport having strapped John inside. It wouldn’t be a comfortable or easy ride and he was worried sick. He instructed the pilot to go carefully.

'You have a very precious passenger,' he told the man, voice thick with emotion. To John, he said, 'Drink as much water as you can without making yourself sick but only…'

'Only water and no food.' The instructions were repeated back to him, instructions he’d given countless times in the last ten minutes. 'I know, Stephen. I’ll be okay.'

He was lying, but they were out of time. ‘Take care, John. I’ll see you soon.’ The door of the small transport vessel closed and locked. 

There was nothing more Stephen could do here, and he headed off to join the others.

*

Jack Maynard had spent a week bouncing the Agamemnon from firefight to firefight, battle to battle, all the time trying to pretend he wasn’t scared to death for John. Hearing he’d been rescued from Clarke’s clutches, was as safe as he could be at the resistance base, was beyond a relief. 

Along with the fleet, they fought their way back to Mars where they waited for the communication that John’s transport had left the base. It was a long wait, hours of silence during which the other captains waited for action and Jack waited for confirmation that they’d reached John in time.

Finally, finally the signal came through, and Jack went down to the docking bay alone. 

He’d been expecting to see injuries consistent with the standard interrogation techniques, the ones he could bring himself to think about, but he hadn’t expected to watch John make two failed attempts to stand. He climbed into the shuttle, got an arm around his waist and helped him up. He could feel how heavily he was leaning on him, and at the base of the steps he stopped, took his old friend in his arms and held him ever so gently while he cried dry sobs. He felt like crying a little himself. 

'You must want to kill them all,’ he murmured into John’s shoulder, and felt him nod; too tired, too emotional to hide the truth. 'We have to do this, Swamp Rat. We have to win this. But I’ll be here with you.’

It wasn’t until John took a hesitant step back that Jack saw the extent of what was visible; the pale, bruise-mottled skin of his face and neck, his hands swathed in bandages, the half-empty saline bag and its tube. If that's what he could see, he wondered how much was hidden. He couldn’t imagine what it had cost John to come here, what it was still costing him and what the final price might be. 

‘Take whatever strength you need from me.'

John nodded once and took a deep breath. The pain wasn’t so visible when he looked up. 

'I could do with a shirt and pants?’

'Of course.'

*

Of course.

But the reality wasn’t as simple. Despite Stephen’s careful dressing of all of John’s open wounds, they were still fresh. His body was fast running out of resources and the healing process wasn’t going to be quick. The clothes he’d been given on Mars were oversized and soft. Standard uniforms were neither. And with his fingers strapped up he struggled to divest himself of a simple sweater, never mind get into a starched shirt and zippered trousers.

Maynard was shocked at the state John was in, shocked Doctor Franklin had let him make the journey, although to be fair maybe he hadn’t had a choice. Jack knew personally how stubborn the man could be once he set his mind to something, and he knew they’d mounted the rescue to free Sheridan primarily so that he could be in this place at this time. 

Still, he didn’t know how he was still standing.

He did try to reason with him. ‘No one is going to question your authority just because you’re out of uniform!’

But John’s expression was one of pleading, and Jack had to relent. He helped him dress, carefully removing the saline bag from the IV before fastening the clips on a white shirt just one size too large for him, stopping two down from the neck when John visibly blanched as Jack's fingers inadvertently brushed against the burns there. It hung loosely from his shoulders, trousers hanging off his hips. The weight loss was unhealthy. 

They stepped onto the bridge together thirty minutes later; the ship’s captain and the leader of the Army of Light. When they faced the crew, John looked outwardly in control at least. He gave a short speech. Jack reiterated his ancient blessing. And then the signal came in from Mars, and Sheridan sent Marcus and Ivanova in for the first strike.

*

They won. But the cost of triumph was so very high. Too many died. Too many suffered.

Sheridan handed himself over to the authorities on Earth, and Maynard remained at his side, refusing to budge, ensuring he wasn’t alone. He’d remained standing throughout it all, but as soon as victory had been assured, he’d dropped to the wreckage of the deck; exhausted, nothing left. Jack could see blood soaking through the white of his shirt.

So much was happening in the aftermath that Sheridan was just another problem, one they parked somewhere he wasn’t going to cause any trouble for a while, to give them time to deal with more pressing matters.

As the other ships docked, Sheridan’s loyal followers - Marcus, Ivanova and Delenn in particular - followed his example and handed themselves over too, to an EarthGov that had more important things to do than take prisoners. So the last thing anyone needed was a pushy commander demanding to see her captain. 

Ivanova started by asking politely. Then, when she realised no one was paying attention, she tried shouting, at more important people.

She was worried he’d been thrown into some damned cell and left to rot. She hadn’t seen him since his rescue, but reports were that he was in a bad way and likely in need of medical attention. So she was imagining all kinds of bad stuff: John coughing up blood onto a filthy mattress; John banging on a heavy metal door, pleading for help that wasn’t coming; John slipping silent and unseen into a coma.

Despite the promises made, by the few who deemed to speak to her, that the captain was fine, she refused to believe them and wouldn’t be silenced. The images she’d created in her head were much more vivid than the placating words of the very people who’d ignored his arrest and torture in the first place. How could he possibly be fine? Less than a day ago he was being brutally abused by Clarke’s interrogators.

Finally, a beleaguered personal assistant to someone with a title got fed up with her constant badgering and handed her a set of keys.

‘They’re in conference room B. Go, please, and leave me alone, I have so much to do and I think I forgot to take coffee somewhere.’

Susan stared down at the keys, not understanding what she was hearing. ‘Conference room?’

’Yes. B. It’s what we’ve been trying to tell you for two hours. He’s not under arrest, they just wanted him out of the way while they try to sort out the mess he’s made.’

‘Where…?’

‘Along that corridor, fifth door on the left. Now please, leave me be!’

There wasn’t even an unarmed guard outside the room when Susan approached, Marcus and Delenn in tow. She unlocked and opened the door with some trepidation, still not quite believing what she’d been told. But it was a conference room, with a large oval table surrounded by chairs with cushions, twelve of which had been commandeered to form a makeshift bed on which the captain was lying. 

Jack Maynard was sitting close to John’s head, fingers in his hair, and when he looked up, she could clearly see the exhaustion, desperation, concern and relief in his expression, heard it all his voice.

‘He needs a doctor. He needs medical attention now. Please, make them listen.’

‘I will make them listen,’ Delenn told him with absolutely certainly, and swept out of the room to find someone to shout at.

Susan approached the two men slowly, uncaring of the tears that she was crying. John looked like hell. The battle itself, maintaining the facade in front of the troops and the enemy, it had all taken its toll. On top of that, the final decision to sacrifice his own life, Jack’s life and those of his crew in order to ram the last remaining defence platform, had been made with the last semblance of strength.

The damage inside was now clearly visible on the outside. He wasn’t asleep, he was unconscious. His skin, where it wasn't purple, was grey. His shirt was torn, stained with blood from new wounds sustained during the battle and old, re-opened ones, inflicted on him by Clarke’s men. He was dying.

Accompanying Delenn, an EarthGov doctor took one look at Sheridan and had him immediately transferred to EarthDome’s infirmary. Jack again went with him, staying close by as John was made comfortable, given saline and blood. His new injuries were cleaned and dressed, his older ones checked. They gave him a couple of injections that Jack would have liked to know more about. He could only hope they had John’s best interests at heart and wished Stephen were here.

*

'Commander Ivanova.'

Susan turned to see Acting President Luchenko standing in the doorway of medical. She straightened, passing off a salute with limited success. 

'Madame President.'

Luchenko looked through the viewing window at the man on the bed, and the ever present man in the chair next to him. 

'I was informed that Captain Sheridan had been brought here.' She pushed open the door and strode into the room, Ivanova close behind. ‘Oh, the Gods….’ Stopping several feet from the bed, she tore her eyes from Sheridan and regarded Maynard with some curiosity. 'You were with him, on the Agamemnon?'

He didn’t get up. ‘Yes, Ma'am.' He paused. 'He gave the order to ram the final defence platform. If the Apollo hadn’t come along.... He was willing to sacrifice us and himself to save the lives of everyone on this planet. Now the war’s over, he deserves the chance to survive, don’t you think? He needs to go home, back to Babylon Five.’

The president nodded. 'There are... formalities. The chiefs are still making up their minds about Sheridan’s fate.'

Jack’s eyebrows rose. 'His fate?'

'He may have to stand trial for his crimes.'

'Trial?' The captain shook his head, disgusted. 'Look at him. You don’t think he’s already paid a high enough price?’

*

Safe on Mars, Garibaldi and Lise sat in the Edgars’ living room, perched on the leather sofa. It felt so normal that it was making Michael’s stomach churn.

'I would love to stay with you,' he told her emphatically. 'I miss you more than I missed myself.'

‘I understand.’

‘I’ve caused Sheridan more harm, more hurt and pain than I could ever have imagined.' He watched the expression on her face and knew she understood. He breathed a little easier.

'It wasn’t your fault, Michael.'

'I know.' He nodded. 'I know. But... I still did it. I have the memories. I only have to close my eyes to see... see them take him down in that bar while I just sat and watched.’

'Michael....'

'We were close. Before all this, before he went to Z’Ha’Dum, before that bastard, Bester, used me against him.’ His anger almost felt like a physical thing. 'I have to go back, Lise, I have to put it right.'

She put her arms around him, hugging him close. 'I know you, Michael. I know you have to do this, but please stop taking the blame. You need him to forgive you. But first you have to forgive yourself.'

He let himself be held. ‘I love him. I’ve loved him for a long time. That’s why what Bester did to us was so much worse than he could ever have intended it to be. When I turned my back on John, I was turning my back on more than my captain, more than my commanding officer. He was my friend. And once in a while, when things got bad, he was my lover.'

She pulled back, letting her hands slide down his arms, smiling gently. 'When things got bad?'

'When we needed one another, needed... a warm body to lose ourselves in.' He swiped at his eyes with his hand. 'He could be anything I needed. Gentle, kind and submissive, rough, forceful and dominant.... He was the best thing I’d ever known.' He met her hot stare directly. 'I destroyed that.'

'Not you.'

'Lise, while he suffered at Clarke’s hands, do you think he thought for a single second that maybe I wasn’t responsible for my actions? Do think think he cared? The things they’ve done to him…. I knew they were lying to the media about his treatment, or the media was lying to us, but I didn’t think it would be as bad as it was.’

‘He’s alive.’

‘He was. The last time I saw him.’

‘They won the war,' she reassured. ‘You saved his life and he led the army to victory.’

'If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn’t have needed saving. And you don't know him. Whatever state he was in, he would have played the part for all it was worth. When Stephen put him aboard the transport on Mars, he had IV in his chest. He couldn’t eat. He was being poisoned by his own body. He was very fucking far from okay then and I doubt he’s okay now.'

Taking his hands, Lise held tight. 'They’ll look after him.'

'I know. But I have to be there. I’m the only one I trust to protect him from the fallout of the war, even if he doesn’t. Whatever happens next, if he’ll have me anywhere near him, that’s where I need to be, where I have to be. Right now, it’s the only place I want to be.’ He wasn’t beyond pleading. ‘I’m sorry, Lise. I love you. But I owe John.’

She nodded, understanding in her smile. 'How could I ever compete?' There was no anger or bitterness. 'Just promise me one thing, and it’s all I'll ask.'

He squeezed her hands. 'Anything.'

'Come back, if and when you can?'

He nodded, promised, and then he kissed her.

*

Stephen met them when the transport docked at Babylon 5. Sheridan had struggled back to consciousness during the trip, and they’d kept him as comfortable as possible, hooked up to saline from the infirmary and slow release meds to keep him alive.

Susan and Jack helped him off the vessel, up onto the waiting gurney, coaxing him to lie down, lifting his legs. He was running on empty.

He looked up at Stephen with an exhausted, relieved expression. ‘Hi, Doc.’

'You look like shit.'

His voice cracked. ‘Thanks.'

'What was the outcome?'

Jack spoke for him. ‘A quarter of them wanted his resignation, a quarter wanted him shot and half hadn’t made their minds up.'

'They’re still trying to dig themselves out from under the red tape.' Ivanova put in helpfully.

'So he’s still captain of this station until we hear otherwise.'

Stephen nodded once. 'Good. In that case, from this moment on, until I’m satisfied you’re fit for duty, I’m putting you on medical leave.' 

The facade finally shattered. John let out a hoarse sob and tried to curl up onto his side. Jack was there, covering his battered hands, murmuring reassurances, while Stephen took a hypo from his pocket and injected it painlessly into John’s neck, waiting with a hand on his shoulder until the sedative worked. ‘Let us take care of you now.'

*

They took him straight into MedLab’s operating theatre, anaesthetising him, stripping him, revealing the full story for the first time since his rescue.

Stephen started by setting bones that had been broken in the last few days and re-breaking older injuries to correct the knit. As he’d thought, John’s little finger was beyond saving. He didn’t know what they’d done to it, didn’t want to know, but he fused and pinned the bones and taped it to the finger next to it, rendering it immobile. Eventually he would need another operation to do something more permanent, but for the time being it would suffice.

After a full scan, he and his team cut John open to clear blood from places blood shouldn’t have been, and to suture his internal wounds. They ran a plethora of tests from kidney and liver functions, lung capacity, MRI and ECG, to a rectal scan, and took biopsies of tissue samples. Once the work up on his blood was complete, and they knew what he’d been given, Stephen would be able to start him on more targeted antibiotics, anti-toxins and counteragents. 

They cleaned him up more thoroughly than Stephen had been able to do at the resistance base, and with him unconscious, they were able to work without worrying about causing him any distress. Stephen very carefully shaved off ten days of facial hair, revealing further injuries, while one of his team washed blood, sweat and dirt from the hair on his head.

Once they were done, they made him as comfortable as they could in an intensive care bed, Stephen took initial readings of everything from temperature and blood pressure to blood-oxygen levels and brain activity. The monitors would record any change and sound an alarm if anything moved out of expected parameters. The IV site in John’s chest had shown signs of infection, and removing the needle as carefully as possible, Stephen this time managed to raise a vein in his arm where he put another IV cannula, plugging in all the fluids and meds John needed to have a fighting chance at recovery.

He worked for eight hours straight while Jack Maynard slept in the chair behind Stephen’s desk. Susan popped in a couple of times to check on John’s progress, but she was trying to sort out the chaos the war had caused aboard the station, and with the B5’s captain out of commission, she was technically and very suddenly in charge.

Stephen was making coffee when Jack woke, predictably. The doctor put a mug of it into his waiting hands.

‘How’s he doing? 

He sighed softly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘He’s a mess.’

‘How much of a mess?’

He started from the top. ‘He has two small fractures of the occipital bone but luckily no resulting haematoma.’

Jack held up one hand. ‘In English.’

‘Skull fractures. I found evidence of multiple concussions when I examined him on Mars, but he’s been in a war since then. If there’d been bleeding on the brain, he probably would have died by now.’

‘Killing him wouldn’t have been their objective.’

‘No. But if you beat someone unconscious in a cell with a concrete floor, his head’s going to come into contact with it, hard, and more than once. Do you want me to go on?’ Jack nodded. ‘There is some damage to his retinas and eardrums, in line with standard interrogation techniques. Low lighting and quiet should mean those heal relatively quickly. When we found him, he was shackled around the throat, wrists and ankles. He was also wearing… what looked like a modified paingiver collar, and matching cuffs. I shaved off what was a valiant attempt at a beard, and found bruising from the restraint and burns from the collar. There are deep scratch marks in the same places, which I think are self-inflicted; John trying to claw it away from his throat.’ He could see the tears in Jack’s eyes but went on. ‘The electrical shocks have also caused internal burning and some never damage. On top of that, he must have fought against the restraints on his wrists and around his ankles for days, because they’re a mess; in places he’s scraped down to the bone and he’s going to have scars given the depth of the lacerations, coupled with the burns.’ 

Stephen glanced through into the quiet room behind the glass, where John lay, still sedated.

‘He has a broken clavicle on the right side, four broken ribs - two of which we had to re-break because they’d started to knit incorrectly. His left humorous and radius are cracked, right carpal is broken, three metacarpals on his right hand, two on his left and a dislocation of his index finger. He’s going to lose the little finger on his left hand. The bones were shattered, I’ve fused pinned and it but sooner rather than later we’ll need to decide on a permanent solution.

‘There are hairline cracks in his femurs, left patella and right tibia. He has two broken metatarsal bones.’ To Jack’s unspoken question, he clarified, ‘Toes. There are tears in his knee ligament, damage to his liver, bruising to his kidneys and three cracked teeth. There are acid burns to his mouth, oesophagus, stomach and intestines, and damage to his rectum. There’s some internal bleeding, although that isn’t quite as bad as I expected. He has an infection in his urethra and there’s significant injury to his testicles.’ Jack turned white. ‘He’s covered in bruises and lacerations, some of which are also slightly infected, even though we found a broad spectrum antibiotic in his blood work.’

‘They gave him antibiotics?’

‘I guess they thought there was no point in breaking him, then wheeling out a dying man to say he was wrong. John had to look as if his change of heart wasn’t down to torture and coercion.’

He looked as if he might possibly throw up. ‘I’m not sure that was ever going to work.’ 

‘It wasn't. I'm sorry, but you did ask.’

‘I did. I just didn’t imagine…. He took command of the Agamemnon, lead the battle…. How was he even standing?’

‘The slow release meds and the stims I shot him up with on Mars. Adrenaline. Plus whatever shit they pumped into him to keep him awake and aware.’

‘If those bastards weren’t already dead….’

‘Yeah.’ Stephen understood the sentiment. ‘I can fix the physical damage. It’ll take time and it’s not going to be quick or painless. But I don’t even know where to start with the mess in his head.’

‘What about the telepath who was with you on Mars?’

‘Lyta stayed with the resistance. I don’t know know where she is, or if she’ll come back.’ He took a sip of coffee, still too hot to drink. ‘Besides, I don’t think a telepath is what we need.’

‘Can I see him?’

Stephen nodded. ‘I’m keeping him isolated because I don’t want him disturbed. He’s been denied sleep and when we rescued him he was severely dehydrated, the two things together have disrupted the normal functioning of his digestive and nervous systems; his body’s natural rhythms need time and rest to reset. It can get quite manic in here. Dr Hobbs is keeping the majority of cases in the other MedLabs for the time being but we might need a rethink once John wakes up. He’ll be out of it for a while. His system’s in shock. He’s on a morphine drip for once the anaesthetic wears off, otherwise the pain would be unbearable. Not that adding to the cocktail of drugs in his bloodstream doesn’t carry its own risks….’ He rubbed his eyes, bone weary. ‘I put in a catheter and moved the IV to his arm because his chest looks infected. He’s going to be on intravenous nutrients for a while, given the state of his digestive system. I’ve stopped short at a transfusion but it’s an option.’ 

Jack put his mug on the desk and stood. ‘You need some rest. I’ll stay with him.’

The door opened with a soft hiss, closing again behind him. Jack approached the bed with some trepidation. Stephen’s listing of John’s injuries had been worse than Jack had imagined and difficult to hear. He’d watched John lead the fleet into battle; how he’d done that, God alone knew. 

He was so still now, dressed in warm, clean clothes and covered by a heat blanket. His head was turned away to the right, his mouth slightly open. The dark rings around his eyes were pronounced against almost grey skin. A patchwork of bruises covered his face, neck and throat, and Jack could see the burns Stephen had talked about. 

A scanner covered his right arm, monitors showing his vitals. Jack recognised the ECG reading of his heartbeat, but wasn’t sure about the rest of it. Five partially empty bags hung on a pole next to the bed, the tubes running into the IV port in his right arm. Another tube snaked out from lower down, under the blanket, to a bag under the bed. 

Jack pulled up a stool and moved it close to the bed. Very carefully, he slid his fingers under John’s left hand, letting the bandaged fingers rest in his palm.

‘I’m here, Swampy,’ he murmured, barely louder than a whisper. ‘You’re safe now.’

*

It was late the following morning when the scanner alerted MedLab to changes in John’s vitals. Stepping into the isolated room, Stephen issued the instruction for the computer to drop the lighting level to 20% and checked the readings. They weren’t great, but at least they were stable.

He was at John’s bedside when he came round.

‘Hey.’ 

John looked directly at him, eyes full of uncertainty. The dilation of his pupils was still slightly uneven but he looked less grey than he had done when he’d come aboard, and that at least was a good sign.

‘You’re on Babylon 5, in MedLab. You’ve been through a lot and you’re going to be very sore for a while. But you are safe. Are you in pain?’

It was a few seconds before John answered, ‘No.’

‘Good. That’ll be the morphine.’ 

His eyes closed, and Stephen thought he would probably just sleep, but in the next moment he started to try to sit up. 

‘Whoa.’ Gently pushing him back down with a hand on the shoulder that at least wasn’t broken, Stephen shook his head. ‘You need to rest. You have extensive injuries.’

‘Where’s my dad?’

‘Your…. Oh, John, he’s safe. Your parents and your sister are with the resistance on Earth. Clarke never had them, that was a lie.’

Relived, he stopped struggling. ‘They’re okay?’

‘They’re all fine. We’ll make contact for you as soon as we can. You can speak to them.’

‘Thanks.’ He took a shivery breath.

‘You need to allow yourself time now.’

Once he was sure John wasn’t going to try to get up again, Stephen lifted his hand away. 

‘Is Jack…?’

‘He's fine. He was here all night and he’ll be back soon. He just went for a shower and to get some food. Susan’s got the station. It’s all fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Michael?’

‘He’s still on Mars, as far as I know. He helped us rescue you. Do you remember that?’ John hesitated, but he gave a brief nod. ‘You’re safe, I give you my word. You just need to rest.’

For a time, he seemed to fight his own body, but eventually his eyes closed and the readings on the monitors indicated that he’d gone back to sleep. 

*

Thankfully, MedLab had remained quiet. Jack had taken up residence in the chair next to John’s bed, and apart from toilet trips and thirty minutes to get some food, he’d remained there. Stephen had fed him coffee and watched him, fascinated and curious in equal measure. He’d met him before, when he and his crew had been stranded aboard the station a couple of years back, after a malfunction had rendered his ship incapable of hyperspace flight and the repairs had taken some time. Stephen remembered a few meals in the mess hall with he and John, the odd evening drink, but nothing beyond that, nothing that would explain this apparent devotion.

On a couple of occasions during the day, Stephen shooed Jack out to give John some privacy while he checked his stitches, changed his dressings, took blood samples for analysis, and checked the IV site and catheter tube for any signs of irritation or further infection. There were injuries to John's urethra that he was concerned about aggravating with the catheter, but there wasn't any sign of that. He replaced the IV bags, keeping up the meds and nutrients, and let Jack return once John was back under the heat blanket. Despite the warm clothes they’d dressed him in, and his temperature being high, his skin felt cold, clammy; a symptom of the shock his system was still in. 

‘How’s he doing, Doc?’ Jack asked as he sat back down. ‘Because - no offence - but he looks worse than when he got here.’

‘That’s because all the stuff that was keeping him going has run out. Healing’s going to take longer than usual because his body doesn’t have any resources left and there’s a lot of damage to fix. Add to that the fact he's got bruising coming out over ninety percent of his body, he’s exhausted and the morphine's only disguising the pain, he will look worse for a time. But he’s come this far, he’s not going to give up now, I’m not going to let him.’

Jack looked suitably chastised. ‘Sorry.’

Stephen shook his head. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. You’re here, and he needs you right now. This morning, when he woke, he asked where you were, like he was worried you’d left.’

‘I’m not leaving.’

Curiosity won out. ‘If you don’t mind me asking….?’ 

‘He’s a very old and very dear friend. Last time we were here, he saved my life and the lives of everyone aboard the Cortez. It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled my ass out of the fire either. I owe him, and even if I didn’t, I’d still want to be here.’

Stephen got the distinct feeling there was something he wasn’t saying, and he might have pushed the issue had the MedLab door not suddenly swung open and a team of medics come rushing in pushing injured men, women and aliens on trolley after trolley.

He left Jack with John, closed the door on his way out and spent the next few hours battling to save the lives of two Centauri and three humans who’d been on a transport which had managed to limp its way to Babylon 5 after being attacked by something in hyperspace. Stephen had flashbacks to the shadows, but they were gone and there was always something ready to fill the void.

A couple of times during the long evening, he glanced through the observation window into intensive care. The first time, John had obviously been disturbed by the noise made by the emergency teams - the room was isolated, but not sound proofed - and he saw Jack soothing him; stroking his hair, holding his hand, or rather, letting John’s broken fingers rest loosely in his own. He wondered about that, later when he had the time, about how naturally the tenderness seemed to come to a hardened starship captain. Not that Jack came over as a hardened starship captain. Last time he’d been aboard, he’d seemed like a bit of a joker with a filthy sense of humour and an interesting way of telling stories. There was nothing of that in his behaviour with John now. 

Stephen checked on his patient around midnight, when the crisis was over and calm had been restored. Jack was fast asleep in the chair by the bed and he left him sleeping while he worked. John's vitals had more or less remained the same; high temperature, high blood pressure, but at least his heart rate was normal. Brain activity was spiking periodically, and it was likely that was down to dreams, or more likely nightmares; he was going have a lot of those. Still, the morphine was making sure they didn’t disturb his sleep for the time being. They would, soon enough, and that would mean a whole new raft of new problems to deal with. He checked John’s stitches and changed his dressings, wincing in sympathy at the sight of some of the bruising around his abdomen, thighs and genitals. There was no permanent damage, but he could imagine the pain it must have caused, add to that the infection in his urethra, and having been locked into that chair…. 

Stephen took a deep, steadying breath and when he’d finished, he pulled up another chair, sitting on the other side of the bed and making himself as comfortable as possible. He understood why Jack refused to leave, understood the need to keep John safe, comfortable, and protected. He felt it more acutely at that moment than he ever had before, and knew it would be a while before he could disengage.

*

Keeping John in MedLab would have been the best thing to do, but there was very little privacy and as had been proven, things tended to get quite chaotic with very little warning. The following afternoon, Jack helped Stephen set up some equipment in John’s bedroom, and they moved him to his quarters later that night, when the corridors were quiet. Stephen made sure to keep the morphine up so the little jolts during the move didn’t cause too much pain, but once his patient was settled, he lowered the dosage.

John stayed asleep through most of it, waking only briefly when they moved him from the trolley to his bed. Stephen was ready for whatever came next, but he seemed to recognise where he was and tried to make himself comfortable. Jack gently held his right arm in place so he didn’t dislodge the IV lines as he shifted, and while he whimpered in protest, they let him bring his left hand up to rest on his chest, which seemed proof enough to his confused mind that he had freedom of movement.

‘We need to keep it quiet and dark in here.’

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jack murmured, ‘I’ve read the manual on standard interrogation techniques.’ He glanced at Stephen. ‘The first steps - humiliation and degradation…?’

Stephen understood what he was getting at. ‘There is rectal damage, as well as bruising to the back of his throat and the roof of his mouth, but they’re injuries which could have been caused by a number of things.’

‘What do you think caused them?’ Stephen held his gaze. ‘I know, he’s a soldier; trained to withstand certain methods of coercion.’ 

‘So they’ll have gone in hard and fast. They didn’t have much time, didn’t have the luxury of breaking him slowly. Rape would have hit all three bases in one barbaric act.’ He could see the pain in Jack’s expression. ‘I don’t know what he’s going to remember and what he isn’t. He may not know what was real and what wasn’t. There are tiny holes in his skull so they could have used probes to screw with his reality, in which case, God knows what he thinks happened.’

‘He seemed in complete control during the battle, so he must still in there.’

‘He is, I’m certain of that. But now there’s something else in there too; a survivor of something brutal, something unimaginable. We need to respect that, and somehow try to help him deal with it.’

*

Susan dropped by on her way to her quarters, at around o-one-hundred. She peered into the bedroom and saw her captain unconscious under the comforter, with Jack asleep in a chair pulled up to the bed, his hand tucked under John’s bandaged fingers. She watched them for a few minutes, wondering about his continued presence, but she was too tired to think much of it and headed to her own bed for some well earned rest.

Delenn visited sometime later, around the crack of dawn, but Stephen had managed to snatch a few hours sleep and was awake enough to greet her, offer her tea and update her on John’s condition. 

Susan brought breakfast to John’s quarters around eight, and despite Stephen’s horror at what she apparently considered a healthy start to the day, it didn’t stop him from eating three almond pastries and drinking two cups of strong black coffee. They heard the shower running for no more than a couple of minutes, Jack appearing not long after, hair sticking up every which way, wearing what Stephen would have sworn were John’s clothes.

He must have read the expression on the doctor’s face, because the first thing he said after, ‘Good morning,’ and ‘he’s still sleeping,’ was ‘I’ve been wearing the same clothes for a week, I didn’t think he’d mind.’

‘Jesus.’ Stephen shook his head. ‘I am so sorry, you should have said! He definitely won’t mind.’

‘You certainly smell better,’ Susan told him when sat next to her at the small table, hugging a mug of coffee to his chest like his life depended on it. 

‘Thank you. I think. How is everything up top? You know if there’s anything I can do to help…?’

Susan acknowledged his offer but turned it down gently. ‘I think John needs you more than we do right now.’

‘And I’m here for him, for as long as it takes. I’m here for you all. I don’t think I’ll commanding anything bigger than a maintenance bot anytime soon.’

‘It’s going to take time for everything to sort itself out.’ Stephen put a second pot of coffee on. ’EarthGov’s in crisis. I think we’re the least of their worries.’

‘Here’s to that.’ Jack clinked his mug to Susan’s and reached for a bagel. 

*

Jack stayed put while Stephen went to MedLab to check in with Dr Hobbs. He checked John’s vitals and hung new IV bags the way the doctor had shown him. Or almost. He managed to pull on the needle in John’s arm, which must have hurt because he came awake with a jolt. 

Sitting on the bed, he put himself in John’s line of sight. ‘Sorry, Johnny. It’s my first time as a nurse.’

For a while, John didn’t respond. He seemed uncertain about where he was and when he did speak it was one word, apprehensive and confused. ‘MedLab?’

‘We’re in your quarters. Stephen thought you’d be more comfortable here. You know you’re on Babylon 5, right? You’re safe.’ He put one hand carefully on an un-bandaged patch of forearm, hoping the touch would help ground him.

John looked at him as if he was searching for something in Jack’s face, and finally he said, ’Tell me… something only you know.’ Jack didn’t understand immediately. ‘About me.’

The penny dropped and he nodded. ‘Okay.’ He cast around for an old memory and smiled when he found the perfect one. ‘Earth, the night we got home after our second Moon-Mars tour. We were in a bar, seedy place… Rodeo Jo’s! There was a band playing terrible Country and Western music. I saw you on the dance floor with a blond in high heels, and I leaned over your shoulder and said, ‘you’re dancing with a man in drag.’ You just grinned at me, turned back to him and planted a kiss on his lips that I’m fairly sure made his night.’

John was smiling, the first smile Jack had seen from him since he’d helped him board the Agamemnon an eternity ago. 

‘Thank you.’ He sounded relieved. ‘They didn’t use you.’

‘Who didn’t… Clarke’s men? Didn’t use me for what?’

John hesitated, and Jack was about to tell him he didn’t have to talk about it, but maybe talk was exactly what he needed to do. 

‘They… made me think I was back here, on B5, with Stephen and Delenn…. Tried to convince me to sign their confession. They didn’t use you. Didn’t know about you.’

Jack saw the moisture in John’s eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I’m glad you’re here.’

‘There’s no where in the universe I’d rather be.’ It surprised him a little how much truth there was in that.

*

Stephen brought back lunch from the Marketplace and Jack told him what had happened, everything from knocking the IV and waking John, to what he’d said about Clarke’s interrogation techniques. 

Stephen was understandably angry. ‘Fucking bastards. They used our images to torture him? How dare they?’

‘That’s why he isn’t sure what’s real.’

‘But he knows you’re real.’

‘They didn’t know about me, or didn’t think I mattered.’

He stopped pacing and leaned on the counter. ‘Do you understand how important that makes you to him right now?’

Jack nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I love that man. I would die for him. When we were aboard the Aggy, and he made the decision that would kill us both, kill us all, I could see the agony of it in his eyes. I know how it feels, to give that command, to know that what you’re doing is going to cost lives our lives, but the way he looked at me… with so much regret, so much fear and sorrow…. I just said, ‘yes, Sir', and I reached out, I don’t know why or what I was going to do, but I reached out and I saw his hands - all bandaged up - and I wanted to kill everyone. Just for a second, I wanted to tear the whole universe apart just to avenge him.’ Jack looked away, took a deep breath and wiped tears from his eyes. 

‘We’re going to help him heal,’ Stephen reassured him, because it was all he could do. 'It's going to take a long time, and a lot of patience and understanding, but we will succeed. For his sake.'

They ate in a companionable silence, and afterwards Stephen told Jack he’d stay, told him to take a walk, stretch his legs. 

‘Try to find some peace of mind?’ Jack interpreted, and Stephen’s wry smile confirmed it. ‘Sorry.’

‘You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.’

‘It can’t have been easy to put him aboard the transport on Mars, to send him into battle knowing the injuries he’d sustained, the danger he was in.’

Stephen closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I was sure I was sending him to his death, and I know I didn’t exactly have a choice but still… it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.’

‘I think giving that final order to ram the platform was possibly the hardest thing he’d ever done. Getting on board the shuttle, taking command of the ship, leading the battle… that’s just who he is, what he is. I think… to stop him getting aboard that transport, you would have had to break both his legs.’ Judging by the grateful expression in Stephen’s eyes, Jack knew he’d made sense. ‘I’ll be back for dinner. Put out a call if you need me.’

Stephen nodded. ‘Thank you, Captain.’

*

Susan turned up with food from her favourite Thai place in the Zocalo at just gone twenty-hundred hours. She unpacked boxes of rice, noodles, chilli squid, gal’sha pakora, Thai meat balls, eggplant and fried treel balls while Stephen looked on in mild but growing horror.

‘Your idea of a healthy diet is terrifying.’

‘Back off,’ she responded jovially. ‘I’ve lived on stress, adrenaline and caffeine for months. Actual food is a vast improvement.’ 

Jack returned a few minutes after she arrived, popping into the bedroom to check on John before joining them at the table. 

‘How’s he been this afternoon?’

Stephen answered. ’I’m worried about the level of psychotopics in his bloodstream. It doesn’t seem to be dropping. I’ve sent some blood for a tox panel. I may need to get him back to MedLab for another scan.’

‘He doesn’t seem like he’s having hallucinations.’ 

Stephen shook his head. ‘That’s not the only symptom, although technically he doesn’t seem to be exhibiting many of the other symptoms either. I’ll see what his blood work comes back with and go from there.’

‘He’s confused about what’s real and what isn’t,’ Jack pointed out. ‘Or at the very least, he doesn’t trust everything he sees.’

‘Based on the holes in his skull and what he said to you this morning, they were were playing mind games, using tech to plant false images, a fake narrative, to make him think he was in a place of safety when he wasn’t. If that’s the case, he’s bound to question everything we tell him is safe.’

‘Jesus.’ Susan put her chopsticks down. ‘If I couldn’t be certain I could trust my own mind, I think I’d be clawing the walls by now.’

‘I don’t think we’re there yet. I don’t think he’s had a chance to even start to process what he went through.’

She stood abruptly. ‘I need a drink. A real drink.’

Jack looked up. ‘I don’t think I’ve had alcohol in… almost a year. If I even sniff it there’s a chance I’ll fall asleep and start snoring.’

‘Just snore quietly,’ Stephen told him, before getting up himself. ‘There was white wine in the fridge.’

‘Do I want to know how you know that?’ Susan enquired curiously as she checked, lifting out an unopened bottle of pale green liquid in triumph.

‘A Centauri delegation gave it to him months ago. I didn’t know if he’d ever got around to drinking it, but it seems not and given it’s going to be a long time before he can, medically….’

‘Best to remove temptation,’ Susan finished.

After dinner, they cleared up before they crashed out on John’s comfy, battered suite, although only Jack was brave enough to put his feet up on the glass coffee table.

In the background, a favourite disk of John’s was playing softly; white noise that they hoped would aid in keeping his sleep as undisturbed as possible. 

'I walked,’ Jack murmured, breaking the silence, swilling the wine in his glass and watching the movement, ‘took in the station, soaked up the atmosphere. People kept stopping me, asking me if the captain was okay, giving me messages for him; thanks, congratulations, that kind of thing.’ He shook his head. ‘I once told him he would be wasted here, that he wouldn’t be able to make the difference I know he wanted to make.' He glanced up over the rim of the glass. 'I don’t think I’ve ever been so wrong in my entire life.’

‘At the beginning, he wasn’t sure about being here, about his place here. He was a pilot, a starship captain. He wanted to feel space beneath his feet.' Susan smiled to herself. 'He kept taking Starfurys out, alone, going for walks on the outside of the station. Drove Garibaldi insane trying to keep him safe.’ The smile faded.

‘Never before have I served under a CO who has been so much trouble,' Stephen muttered, affection colouring his voice. ‘The man is batshit crazy.’ Jack couldn’t help but laugh. 

They were all on the brink of nodding off when the Babcom unit roused them with a soft beep.

'Go ahead,' Susan instructed.

Zack seemed ever-present on Babylon 5, and seeing his face appear on the screen was a good thing. The war had been won, celebrations were still happening all over the station, on Mars, Earth, outposts and colonies throughout the galaxy. Yet Zack was on duty as if this was just another night. 

'Commander, Doc, sorry to disturb you. I thought you’d want to know, Garibaldi’s ship has just docked.'

*

No one was going to stop him. He asked only one question, 'Where’s the captain?' but no one would answer him.

*

Ivanova moved to get to her feet, but as soon as she did so, Stephen’s hand stopped her, resting on her knee.

‘Wait.' 

She turned to look at him and saw he still had his eyes closed as he spoke.

'Garibaldi came to us on Mars, he begged us to listen and when we wouldn’t, when we threatened to kill him, he begged Lyta to scan him. After he was taken by the Shadows, Bester programmed him, flipped his mind inside out, convinced him that everything he stood for, everyone he loved, was wrong, turned him against it all. Getting him to hand Sheridan over to Clarke was never part of the plan, but that was the price Edgars demanded. Bester played Garibaldi to the end, getting what he wanted from right inside the heart of Edgars Industries. And once he had that, he released Michael from his control and left him with the knowledge of what he’d done.’

He didn’t move or open his eyes. He just told it as it was. 'Michael saved John’s life. Without him, without who they thought he was, we would never have gotten close to that cell. Rescue would have been impossible.’

'Stephen, without what he’d done, rescue wouldn’t have been needed.’

He opened his eyes then, and looked at her. 'I know. But Bester is an evil bastard. We know that. He’s the one to blame, he’s the reason John ended up in that cell. So as difficult as it is, you can’t hold Michael responsible for what happened.’

*

Garibaldi stepped cautiously into MedLab 1 and knew immediately that John wasn’t there. The lack of security was a dead giveaway. It was quiet, one or two patients recovering from various ailments. Doctor Hobbs was at her desk and when she looked up he could see the accusation in her eyes. 

He found this harder than he’d expected. People he’d considered friends had been regarding him with at best suspicion, at worst disgust. He needed people to know, but more than that he needed John to know, everything, the truth. That was his goal now, everyone else could wait. 

‘I’m looking for the captain.' He stammered out. 'I thought he would have been brought here.'

'He was brought here. He’s not here any longer.’

Michael felt his chest constrict, felt something cold and heavy settle there. ‘He’s…’ He couldn’t say it. ‘Please, just tell me he’s alive.’

She hesitated, but she wasn’t a cruel woman. ‘He’s alive.’

He let out the breath he’d been holding. ‘Thank you. Thanks, Doc.’

He turned, and stopped dead. Susan and Stephen were standing there, side by side.

‘Hi. I was just…. Oompf.’ He wasn’t expecting Susan’s tight hug, but he returned it once he got over the surprise. Arms around her shoulders, he murmured,

'I am so sorry.' 

‘Don’t apologise when you’re not the one responsible,’ Stephen insisted. ‘I told her what Bester did to you.’

Michael released her and she stepped back, surreptitiously wiping tears from her eyes. 

’He wouldn’t have been able to do it if he hadn’t found something inside me to work with.’

Susan spoke up. ‘That’s bullshit and you know it. You loved John. He loved you. Bester is the most powerful telepath we’ve ever come across. None of this is your fault.’

‘Is John okay?’

‘He’s very, very far from okay. But we’re taking it hour by hour.’

‘Where is he?’

‘His quarters. You know how much he hates MedLab. If I’d tried to keep him here he would have expended more energy trying to escape than he has to spare.’

‘Can I see him?’

‘Of course.’

*

The sight of John sleeping in his own bed dislodged something heavy in Michael’s chest that he hadn’t even realised was there. He found he could breathe much more easily.

‘Can I sit with him a while?’

Stephen hesitated. ‘Come and sit with us first, there are some things we need to explain.’ He pulled the sliding doors closed.

‘Tea?’ Susan was already half way to the kettle.

There was a man in John's clothes snoring softly in the armchair, feet up on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. He looked perfectly at home, and Michael thought he should recognise the guy but he couldn’t place him.

Stephen sat on the couch and Michael perched on the edge. 

‘John’s very fragile right now, physically and mentally. He seems uncertain about what’s real and what isn’t. If he wakes and you’re the first thing he sees… I don’t know if that would scare him or not, and he isn’t up to coping with any kind of stress.’

Slightly confused, he said, ‘But he knows I was there on Mars? He knows I helped rescue him?’

‘We don’t think he’s certain that the rescue was real. They put suggestions, images, possibly scenes into his head, made him think he was safe when he wasn’t. They used his memories of us against him.’

Michael sat back. ‘Fucking bastards….’

Susan handed him a mug of tea, asked him if he wanted anything to eat. The smell of the Thai food was tempting, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. She brought over a plate. ‘Help yourself. I bought far too much as it is.’

The gal’sha pakora and meat balls were amazing, and he felt better after food, clearer.

‘Has John eaten?’

Stephen shook his head ‘His stomach lining and intestinal walls are badly damaged. He can’t eat. I’ve got him on saline and IV nutrients for now, and I’ve got some stuff we’ll need to get him drinking before too long which should help.’

‘But he has been conscious?’

‘He collapsed on the Agamemnon, after the battle. By the time he arrived back here he needed emergency surgery. He’s been more or less out of it since. When he has been lucid, he’s asked a couple of questions, and he told Jack about the mind games,’ Stephen pointed at the man sleeping in the armchair. ‘They didn’t use his image, presumably they didn’t know about him, didn’t go far enough back to find him, or they didn’t think he was important.’

Michael glanced over at the stranger. ‘Jack…? Who…?’ Then he remembered. ‘Jack Maynard! Captain of the Cortez.’

‘He was aboard the Agamemnon. He stayed with John after he handed himself over to EarthGov, hasn’t left his side since.’

Michael felt a flare of jealousy and immediately hated himself for it. Someone was looking after John, someone had been there with him through the battle and its aftermath, and that was something he needed to be very, very grateful for.

‘How long-’ He was interrupted by the sound of glass smashing. Jack woke with a start, Michael and Susan sat up, but Stephen was the first to his feet. He put both hands out, palms down. 

'Stay here.’

John was still in bed, lying half on his side, staring down at the broken glass on the floor. When Stephen stepped into the room his head snapped up, fear obvious in his wide eyes.

'John.' Stephen approached slowly, hands out. 'It’s all right.'

He glanced down again at the floor. 'I’m... sorry.'

'It’s all right. It’s just a glass, it doesn’t matter. You’re safe, John.' He stepped forward, slowly. 'It’s not a trick, I’m real, you’re on B5.'

Sheridan eased himself up, weight on his elbow. But his body refused to sustain him and he collapsed back, a fit of coughing overwhelming him.

Crouching down, avoiding the glass and the IV tubes, Stephen slipped his hand behind John’s head and lifted it gently, murmuring, ‘Just breathe. Deep breaths. I’ll get you some water.’

Once the coughing eased, Stephen left him for a moment to fetch another glass, reassuring the others that everything was okay, beckoning to Jack who followed him back into the bedroom.

‘Can you help him sit up?’

Moving around to the other side of the bed, making sure John was happy with him being there, Jack sat up behind him and very carefully levered him up to lean against him. Stephen handed him the glass and watched as he let John take it between trembling hands, helping him hold it steady. He cleared up the shards on the floor, all the while glancing up to catch glimpses of what he thought was possibly the best bedside manner he’d seen in a long time.

‘Ever thought about being a nurse?’ he asked quietly, but the look he got in response quickly answered that question.

Once John had decided he’d had enough, Jack eased him back down, fluffing the pillow under his head with a wry glance at Stephen. He perched on the edge of the bed, staying put.

Stephen sat too, taking advantage of his patient being awake to ask how he was feeling.

A pause before the answer came back. ‘Tired.’

‘How’s the pain, on a scale of 1 to 10?’

‘6… maybe 7.’

‘So adjusting for you lying to me, I’ll make that a 10.’ 

He prepared a morphine shot and used the IV to inject it. Almost instantly John seemed to breathe easier. 

‘You need to tell us when you’re in pain,’ Stephen felt like begging. ‘Please.’

He didn’t get a reply. John’s eyes were already closed, he was already asleep.

‘He is the worst patient,’ Stephen muttered, and Jack chuckled. 

‘I’ll stay with him for a while.’

‘Thanks. Listen, he talks to you, trusts you, so if you can get him to tell you when he’s in pain, when he’s thirsty, hungry, if he needs… anything, that would be really helpful. Sometimes I think it would be useful to be a telepath in this job.’

Susan and Michael sat up when Stephen closed the sliding doors behind him and plucked a meatball from the leftovers as he passed, dropping into the chair Jack had vacated.

‘Is he okay?’

‘He knocked a glass off the table, it must have hit something on its way down and smashed. That’s all. He’s okay. In pain, which is expected. I’ve given him a shot and he’s sleeping again. Which is what we should all try to do.’

He was right. Susan stood and held a hand out to Michael. ‘Come on, you’re on my couch.’

He was obviously reluctant to leave, but Stephen promised he’d let them know if anything changed, and Susan promised they’d bring breakfast round before she went on shift. She even suggested she might try to find something healthier than pastries.

*

Jack sat in the chair and watched John sleep while his mind ran in circles.

He remembered Michael Garibaldi from his visit to B5 a couple of years ago, a few months after John had taken up the post on board. He was the one who’d sent the message about John’s father being detained, the reason John had gone to Mars, making himself exposed and vulnerable to Clarke’s forces. He was the one ISN had branded a hero. 

There were leaked vids of what had happened in the bar; blurry, grainy images of a man being beaten senseless by a group of thugs. Jack wasn’t too proud to admit he’d wept when he’d first seen them. For seven days, while John was being tortured, he’d spent all the moments between firefights imagining what he would do to Michael Garibaldi if their paths ever crossed again.

Then he’d listened to Stephen telling Susan about the psi-cop, Bester, about how Garibaldi had been brainwashed, manipulated into turning his back on everything he cared for - his job, his friends - into betraying John.

Released from his own prison, the first thing he’d done was hand himself over the resistance, and masterminded the rescue, the raid on the interrogation facility on Mars. Jack would be eternally thankful for that. So if Susan and Stephen were comfortable with Garibaldi being there, then he had no reason not to be. He was in no position to judge these people. He’d been made welcome here, but the others had been at John’s side throughout one war, out of that and into another. John drew good people to him like moths to a flame, but he drew danger too.

There was still the question of what Garibaldi had been to John before it had all been torn apart, although he had a shrewd idea. 

With a soft sigh, he slid his fingers under John’s bandaged hand and closed his eyes, hoping he’d sleep eventually.

*

Susan turned up with Michael and breakfast at just gone six. She’d been to Eve’s and picked up a selection of potato cakes, which she hoped would meet some of Stephen’s criterial for a healthy start. Some of them even contained herbs.

They’d almost finished eating when Susan heard something that sounded like rain. For a moment the incongruity of it threw her, then she realised it was the sound of someone taking a shower.

She, Michael and Jack all looked to Stephen. ‘Is he…?’

With the long-suffering sigh of a doctor used to his advice, even his orders, being ignored, he said, ‘It does seem that way, doesn’t it?’

Going through into the bedroom, the first thing Susan saw was that the pole the IV bags hung from was missing, and that prompted another thought. ‘Doesn’t he have a catheter in?’

‘Yes.’ The doctor’s tone was flat. 

‘He must have taken everything in with him.’ Michael hesitated. ‘Unless… he can’t have removed it himself, can he?’

‘Well… technically he could. It’s not a difficult procedure. With some soap and a bit of care….’ Jack and Michael visibly squirmed.

‘Can we please not have this conversation?’

The water stopped abruptly. ‘Right, you three out.’

This they obeyed without question, Susan sliding the doors closed behind her.

Stephen paused for a couple of seconds and then knocked on the bathroom door. ‘John? Would you like some help in there?’

It was another few seconds before the reply came back, tired, reluctant and grouchy. ‘Yeah’.

He opened the door and for a moment his professional mask slipped and he swore softly. John was leaning against the inside of the shower cubicle, trembling with the effort, IV pole next to him, catheter bag in there with him, the tube still in place. He was naked from head to toe, dripping wet and it was the state of his body that was shocking. The skin around his ribs was almost black, bruises on top of bruises. There were clear boot prints on his left side, his abdomen, and on both thighs. The strapping around his shoulders and ribs, and the light cast on his right arm, were soaked. Most of the dressings had come away with the power of the water, the wounds still raw. At least the brace on his wrist remained in place, as did the splints strapped to his fingers, although he was cradling his right hand in his left. He’d lost weight over the years but it was pronounced now, unhealthy. 

‘You know, you could have just asked.’ But Stephen didn’t hesitate in helping John out of the shower, careful to bring the pole and bag with them, getting a towel around his shoulders and sitting him on the toilet, lid down. He got a second towel around him. 

‘Doc… is there any… permanent damage… down there?’

It took Stephen a moment to follow his train of thought. ‘To your genitals? No. Your testicles show no signs of rupture, just bruising. You have injuries to your penis consistent with infection and dehydration. It’ll take a while, but it will heal. Completely.’

John was staring down at the towel covering him. ‘Can you remove the catheter, please?’

He hesitated, but there was something about the look on his face that stopped him saying no. ‘If I do that, it’ll hurt to pee for another few days.’

‘I don’t care. Please.’

‘Okay.’ 

Stephen was as gentle as he could be but he knew it hurt. The bruising was mottled green and purple and his own groin ached in sympathy. 

When he finished, he cleared up and crouched back down to carefully and cautiously towel dry his patient, careful to avoid the wounds which were bleeding a little. Stephen ran his fingers curiously through damp, clean hair. ‘How did you manage to wash this?’

‘Determination?’ John was still cradling his hand.

‘Is that hurting?’

‘Everything’s hurting, doc.’

‘Right.’

Making sure John was dry, Stephen supported him back through into the bedroom. He found some clean sweats in a drawer and helped him into the pants before letting him get comfortable on the bed. 

‘I need to check you over and redress your wounds, okay?’ 

John nodded. ‘What’s the prognosis?’

‘The only permanent physical damage, I think, is your little finger. The pins there are a temporary measure. I’ll need to take out the bone and replace it, there are a couple of options but you won’t regain the use of it. I’m sorry.’

John shrugged, looking down at his hand. ‘It’s just a finger. I’ve got another seven.’

Stephen was mildly surprised. ‘Humour, that’s a good sign. Tell me what else is hurting, worst to best.’

His chest was aching, and that wasn’t a surprise given the broken ribs and deep bruising he’d sustained. His ankles, and Stephen explained that was not only because he’d put weight on a fractured bone, he’d got soap under the bandages where his struggles against the restraints had rubbed them raw. The same with his wrists although the brace had protected the wounds on his right one. He said he felt slightly sick, had done since Mars. Stephen told him it was a side-effect of the psychotropics. 

It took him over an hour to check stitches, apply fresh dressings and swap the IV bags out for fresh ones. He applied a couple of regen packs to the broken fingers and taped them in place. He hoped John’s system would be able to deal with the additional pressure they would put on it, and it would be worth it to give him back the use of his hands. There were a couple of fairly intrusive and painful procedures he needed to perform which John was obviously uncomfortable with. A little reluctantly, he gave him another morphine shot for the pain, but he knew that was only part of the problem.

‘Do you want me to ask Jack to come in?’ 

John replied, ‘no,’ but it was after a pause and Stephen wasn’t convinced.

‘Are you sure, John? He told us what you said, about the mind games they played, how they made you think it was us. It’s okay to need that reassurance.’ There were tears in John’s eyes when he nodded, but Stephen was relieved. 

He poked his head through the doors. Jack and Michael were in the living room and if they had been talking, they weren’t at that moment. 

‘Jack.’

He was on his feet and over in a heartbeat.

‘Is he okay?’

‘Are you happy to sit in for a few minutes? There are a couple of things I need to check and he’s not comfortable.’

‘Of course.’

Stephen watched as Jack pulled the chair up close to the top of the bed, so he was looking John in the eyes and ignoring everything else that was happening. He reached back so he could put his palm under John’s left hand and when he started to talk it was quiet, sharing stories and memories, inviting responses, continuing seamlessly if they weren’t forthcoming. 

‘Where have you been all my life?’ Stephen murmured, not loud enough so as Jack would hear him, or so he thought. But he was wrong, he realised, when Jack glanced at him and chuckled.

When he was done, and John was dressed and settled back under the covers, he perched on the edge of the bed and said, ‘Michael’s here.’ John’s eyes widened. ‘You remember he was on Mars? Remember he helped us get you out?’ A nod. ‘I have to tell you something, and it’s not going to be easy to hear but you have to know.’ Another nod, and Jack cradled John’s bandaged hand between his own while Stephen told him how his friend and lover had been abducted, brainwashed and manipulated into turning against him, against them all, until finally he’d lured John to his capture.

There were tears, all his body could spare which wasn’t much. Stephen left him with Jack when it was all told, trusted he would ask John what he wanted to do when the time was right.

Out in the living room, Michael was pacing but he didn’t pounce the moment Stephen appeared. He waited, listened, and understood.

‘Just give him time. He needs to take it all in.’

‘Think he’ll ever forgive me?’

Stephen reached out, a hand settling on Michael’s shoulder. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. I’ve told you. This wasn’t you, this was Bester. And that bastard is going to pay.’

*

Susan tapped her link and waited for the Babcom unit to put the message through. Two seconds later, President Luchenko’s face appeared before her.

'Commander Ivanova.'

'Madam President.'

'We’ve come to a decision.’ Susan bit back a comment about them taking their time. 'No one denies what Sheridan did was right.’ She seemed loathed to be saying it. ‘Between you and me, I think he should be shot in public to make a statement.’ She held her hand up, palm out, in a gesture of apology. ‘But he did save the lives of everyone on Earth at the end. And things are better, there’s no denying that either. We’re sending someone to Babylon 5. Not a replacement,’ she pre-emptied Susan’s protest. ‘Someone who will mediate between the station’s command staff and EarthGov, for the time being.’

'Captain Sheridan….'

'Is still the captain of B5.' She sighed. 'To remove him at this moment, after everything that has happened, would be political suicide.' Susan’s smile was not a nice one. ‘That’s all. Expect Commander Lochley to arrive with you in the morning.’

'We will. And John’s recovering slowly, thanks for asking.’

The president grimaced, and the image winked out.

*

Unable to sit still, Michael took Stephen’s advice and went for a walk. There wasn’t an inch of the station he wasn’t familiar with to some degree, and he let himself go wherever his mood took him, surprising himself by ending up in hydroponics.

It was quiet, peaceful; a couple of Minbari in white robes were tending to the herb gardens. They didn’t question Michael’s presence behind the glass; many people tended to find the abundance of nature soothing and went there to walk and to think.

He sat for hours, not really wanting or needing to be anywhere else for a time. He had to give John space to come to terms with what Stephen had told him. He knew deep down John was more likely to blame himself for his actions now he knew what Bester had done, and that was the last thing Michael wanted. He’d shouldered the problems of the universe on his shoulders for far too long and at an unimaginable cost. 

There was nothing Michael could do to help, he could never take back the pain he’d caused. Happier times with John were distant memories, ones he no longer had the right to think back on. He had a fair idea about what had happened on Mars, based on the evidence he’d seen in the cell where they’d found him bound to that god-awful chair. But by then they’d already had him a week and he was sure the first days would have been worse than the finale ones, would have been hell. To think of John being subjected to the kinds of abuse he knew EarthForce was capable of… it physically hurt. 

His only consolation was that he’d been to help in the rescue, that he’d had the information they needed to find him and get him out before Clarke’s man succeeded in breaking him. Or killing him. His only hope now wasn’t that John could forgive him, but that he was able to live with what he’d been through. 

*

‘Michael?’

He hadn’t expected to hear John’s voice when he entered the captain’s quarters; a call from the bedroom. The doors were open and he peered cautiously inside. John was sitting up in bed, various IV lines still dripping drugs and fluids into him, Jack sitting on the bed, at his side. 

‘Can we talk?’ John asked, and he wasn’t expecting that either.

He stepped into the room, hesitant. Jack’s reaction to him hadn’t been openly hostile, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either.

‘If you’re up to it.’ There was a second chair in the far corner. ‘I can sit over-‘

‘Come over here.’ Michael took a step at a time. ‘Jack, give us a few minutes?’

Maynard obviously wasn’t happy about it, but he got up. ‘I’ll be right outside.’ He look he gave Michael on his way out was a warning and Michael knew to take it seriously. One wrong move, he didn’t doubt Jack wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. He walked around the bed and sat down in the chair, perching on the edge, hands clasped together. He found it difficult to look John in the face.

‘I’m so sorry, Mike.’

His head snapped up. ‘What? You… you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I betrayed you.’

John shifted with a concerted effort. ‘I should have known, realised something was wrong. I was so caught up in me, I couldn’t see what was happening to you.’ He sank back as if saying that had taken every iota of strength he had. 

‘You are not to blame here.’ He tried to say it in a way John would believe it. 

’Neither are you.’ 

‘I remember doing everything I did, and some of it was me. I kept telling people - Wade, that reporter, Edgars’ guys - that I wouldn’t hurt you, I didn’t want to hurt you. But that’s exactly what I did, just because they asked me to. When Bester released me, all the rebellion, the bitterness and the hatred turned into this surge of horror. If I could have moved then, I would have killed him with my bare hands. If I hadn’t known how to find you, how to undo at least a tiny part of what I’d done, I’d have killed myself.’

‘You saved my life.’

’Stephen and Lyta saved your life. I pointed them in the right direction, got them inside because Clarke’s men trusted me. And I know it doesn’t start to make up for what I did to you, not just betraying you at the end, but everything that I said and did before that. I loved you, John, and I remember every word, every insult, that punch… watching you in the bar. I am so, so sorry.’

He blinked away tears, watching as John lifted a bandaged hand from the bed before dropping it again uselessly. He could see the weary frustration in his eyes. ‘We’ll find Bester and we’ll fucking kill him.’

‘I’ll find him and I will end him, I give you my word. I hope you can forgive me one day.’

‘Michael…. There’s nothing to forgive.’

He knew there was more to say, but John looked exhausted, and Michael was fairly sure he was asleep before his eyes closed.

*

At o-nine-hundred, the morning after Luchenko’s call, Ivanova met Commander Elizabeth Lochley in the arrivals section of Docking Bay 2.

They shook hands, professional and polite. But Susan was on edge. She was feeling protective and proprietary. This was John’s station, and while he was recovering it was hers. They’d fought long and hard for this place and she was not going to give it up to some mediator appointed by EarthGov.

She showed Lochley around, starting at C&C and ending at the quarters they’d assigned to her. She was a straight-forward woman, very clear about her role and her duty. As long as she stayed out of their way, Ivanova didn’t much care.

‘I’ll leave you to settle in. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to contact me.’ It was the polite thing to say.

'There is one thing.’ Almost out the door, Susan stopped and turned. ‘I’d like to see Captain Sheridan as soon as possible. We have a lot to discuss.'

'The captain’s on medical leave. I’m in charge until he’s back.’

'Still, my orders are to see John.’

Ivanova stepped back into the room, surprised by the intimacy this woman seemed to be assuming.

‘As I said, Captain Sheridan is on medical leave. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you speak to Doctor Franklin.'

*

Stephen put the scanner down rather harder than he meant to. 

‘I will not have my patient disturbed. I don’t care what your orders are. You were told to interact with the captain of this station and for the near future, that is Commander Ivanova.’

Lochley sighed and her whole demeanour changed. The hard-nosed EarthForce soldier mask slipped a little and Stephen found himself feeling a little sorry for her. 

‘Look, we’ve been to hell and back. John hasn’t made it in one piece. Everyone has closed ranks. We need time to heal after three years of war, loss and pain. This place is our home, it’s what we’ve been fighting for. No one is ready to give it up or to move on quite yet.’

'I have a job to do, Doctor.'

Stephen smiled wryly. 'And who do you have to thank for that?'

*

Garibaldi picked up a selection of cold cuts, cheeses and freshly baked bread from the Marketplace and took them back to John’s quarters that evening. 

Susan told him about their new liaison while she pulled out dishes and cutlery. ‘I couldn’t believe the sheer nerve of the woman!’ Garibaldi chuckled softly. ‘What?’

‘For the acting captain in charge of a station with half a million beings on board, you’re not really a people person, are you?’

‘She called him John!’

‘That is his name.’ Jack came in from the bedroom as they were talking. ’How is he?’

‘Sleeping.’ 

Michael and Susan shared a look. ‘Sorry.’

‘What?’ He looked puzzled for a moment before the penny dropped. ‘Oh, no, you’re fine. Stephen was round earlier, gave him a mild sedative. He was having… hallucinations or nightmares, we’re not sure. He was getting confused and upset, so Stephen thought it was best to knock him out for a few hours.’ He took a beer from the fridge and offered Susan one. ‘Now, who’s this with the audacity to call John by his own name?’ Susan elbowed him in the ribs, gently and he put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her briefly. Garibaldi watched with a tug of something in his gut.

‘EarthGov’s assigned a mediator to B5. Commander Lochley.’

'Elizabeth Lochley?'

'That’s the one. You know her?'

He shook his head, wry smile on his face. ‘Jesus. The universe really does hate him, doesn’t it?’

‘Hates who? Why?’

‘Elizabeth Lochley is John’s ex-wife.’

The clatter of cutlery made him look round. Michael was staring at him. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘They met at the academy, married, then three months later realised they’d made a mistake and divorced. All very amicable the way he tells it.’

‘He’s never even mentioned her.’

Jack shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago. Anna was…’

’The love of his life,’ Michael filled in the blanks. ‘We know.’

Susan added, ‘We just didn’t know about Ms Lochley.’

Later on, after dinner, Michael looked in on John. He was still sleeping, lying on his back with the comforter pulled around him like a burrito. He felt Jack’s eyes on him and glanced back over his shoulder. ‘He used to steal the covers all the time,’ Michael said quietly, and Jack laughed. ‘Was it really as simple as a nightmare this afternoon?’

‘No. He was… really rattled. Very scared. Stephen’s walking a thin line between adding more drugs to the concoction already there, and putting too much pressure on his already taxed system by withholding the meds that can help him.’ 

Michael pulled the doors closed again. ‘Look, I know what you must think of me. I know it can’t be easy to accept what Stephen told you about what happened.’

Jack looked directly at him, eyes hard. ‘I was there, aboard the Agamemnon, when John left to meet you. And I was there when he got back, eight days later, battered and bruised, bones broken, a fucking tube in his chest. I know, it wasn’t your fault. If these people accept that, if he accepts that, then okay. But it’s very difficult to see him like this, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a more than a little protective right now.’

*

As soon as John was awake for more than twenty minutes a day, Stephen knew he wouldn’t stay in bed. He mixed a concoction of all the drugs he was on into a saline solution in a single IV bag attached to a strap around his upper arm. He’d lost enough weight that his looser jumpers and sweaters were hanging off him anyway, so his sleeve covered the shunt and the bag. The regen packs had worked on his fingers, mending the breaks, and over the last few days they’d watched him develop a habit of pulling his sleeves down over his hands, as if he didn’t want any part of himself exposed.

Stephen insisted too on his patient wearing a medical monitor; a small device on a wide, soft strap, which he attached to his left forearm, a couple of inches down from his wrist. It fed back vital data to MedLab every hour, sounding an alarm if there was any sudden change, or any of the readings moved beyond expected parameters. 

Along with those things, and a lecture on not pushing himself at all, not adding any stress whatsoever to his fragile system, there was the solution to repair his stomach lining. John looked with disgust at the pale green liquid in the bottle Stephen was holding.

‘It mixes with water. Ideally, you’ll be drinking three to four litres a day. It doesn’t taste great, but it’ll mean that hopefully, after a few weeks, you can start to eat again.’ John didn’t look convinced. ’I know that seems like a long time.’

A shake of his head. ‘It’s not that. The thought of food… makes me feel sick.’

‘Can you tell me what they gave you? I mean, what they fed you? I know it was poisoned….’

‘First time it was a… sandwich, maybe biscuits of some kind.... I'm sorry, I don’t remember.’ He was clearly frustrated by that. 

‘It’s fine. Don’t try to. If you can’t remember something, it’s because your brain’s keeping it from you for good reason. Don’t force it.’

‘I don’t think I want to.’

‘No. Good. We need to take this one day at a time. And you have to talk to us, to me or Jack, or Susan… it doesn’t matter. As long as when something happens, if you don’t feel well, or if something seems to trigger a memory or an emotion, even a physical reaction, you tell one of us. Promise me, John. This isn’t going to be easy, but you don’t need to face it alone.’

‘I’ll try, doc.’

It was the best he could hope for. ‘Thank you.’ John had always been such a private man and to have that ripped away, to have his worst fears, his pain and humiliation laid bare, continuing to share so much of what had happened, and was happening, to him couldn’t have been easy. ‘Let’s start you on this, okay?’ 

Stephen fetched a glass, filled it with water and mixed in a small amount of the pale green solution. John followed him out of the bedroom, hobbling, favouring his right leg.

'Stephen… I didn’t thank you, for coming to get me. I… couldn’t have held out much longer.'

‘You’re stronger than you think. And I will always come to get you.’

He held out the glass and John took it gingerly between both hands, the pinned pinkie sticking out at an unnatural angle. Stephen knew he’d need to do something about that, sooner rather than later.

John made a face after the first sip, and Stephen chuckled. ‘Told you it doesn’t taste great.’

‘It’s vile.’

‘Get used to it.’

He tried again. ‘Can’t you flavour it with something?’

Actually, Stephen didn’t see why not. ‘I’ll get Susan to pick up some fruit juices from the Marketplace.’

‘Or… I could go?’

‘Jesus, John, we’ve only just got you up out of bed! One step at a time, please?’

‘I’m going to go stir crazy if I’m confined to this room.’

‘I didn’t say that. Just… not too much too fast, okay? The Marketplace is crowded and chaotic. We have no idea how you’re going react to… anything. So bear with me, please, and take things easy. If you want to get out of here, go somewhere quiet, but do not go alone.’

‘Doc…’

Jack’s timing was impeccable. He stepped into John’s quarters, half-eaten sandwich halfway to his mouth, as John turned to see who it was. Time seemed to pause for a moment. Then he bolted for the sink, dry retching into the bowl. There was nothing to bring up, except for the two mouthfuls of the stuff that was supposed to be helping heal his inflamed stomach.

‘Shit.’ The bright expletive followed Jack back out of the room and for a second Stephen thought he’d actually left. But he returned empty handed while the doc was over with John, one arm around the man’s waist in an effort to stop him coming apart.

Joining them, Jack filled a glass with water and held it to John’s lips for him to drink. His hands were shaking as hard as the rest of him and Stephen could feel him pressed against him, looking for strength maybe, or reality, comfort. This was way worse than any reaction they’d seen before now. This looked horribly like programming.

‘Just take sips,’ he advised, trying to concentrate on the here and now, not to let his analytical mind run away with him. He could hear the alarms sounding on his link from the monitor on John's arm and imagined he could feel the pounding of his heart in all the places where they were touching in the same way he could feel the heat of flushed skin as John's temperature was rising fast, sweat beading on his forehead.

‘What just happened?’ Jack wanted to know.

‘I’ll explain in a minute. Help me get him sat down.’

They got him onto the sofa, Jack staying put at his side, arm around his shoulders as he hunched forward. Stephen dropped ice from the icebox into a towel and crouching down, he held it to John’s forehead, to his face, hoping to bring his temperature down, or at least stop it rising.

‘John, I need you to take deep breaths for me. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Come on. In. Out.’ 

John shuddered with the first couple, but slowly he got it under control. Once he was breathing in line with Stephen, Jack held the glass out again and this time he was able to hold it, still shaky, but able to take sips of water without help.

‘Good. That’s good. Just keep breathing, slowly.’ 

Stephen put one hand to the side of John’s head and stroked his damp hair back from his temple. His face was still flushed but the danger had passed. Taking a deep breath, he sat back on his ankles. Jack sat back too, easing John with him. Wiped out, John rested his head on Jack’s shoulder and closed his eyes, breath easing, pulse dropping slowly back to normal.

‘Panic attack,’ Stephen murmured. ‘Or a programmed response. There will be… triggers. Things they’ve used against him. What you were eating when you came in, that’s one of the things they fed him that was poisoned. He’s told me one other but I’m sure there’ll be more. We need to be careful, but that’s all we can be unless he can remember.’

‘I’m so sorry....’

‘You weren’t to know. And I had no idea his reaction would be that violent.’

Rising, Stephen went to refill the glass John had luckily managed to slide onto the counter before making a beeline for the sink. He topped it up with the solution that tasted so bad and as an after thought checked John’s cupboards for something he could flavour it with. He found an almost empty bottle of goja berry cordial and used the last of it, handing the glass to Jack.

‘Are you okay there for half an hour?’ He nodded. ‘Get him to drink as much of that as you can. It doesn’t taste great on its own so I’m going to get him some flavourings.’

‘Good idea.’

‘He has them, once in a while, in amongst the really bad ones.’ Jack smiled, still too tense to laugh. ‘Sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine. I’ll look after him.’

‘I know.’

For a time, Jack sat quietly, John’s head against his shoulder. He felt him stir, and moved his arm up to rest along the back of the sofa as John sat up.

‘Okay?’

‘Yeah. Thirsty.’

Jack held up the glass Stephen had left with him and John rolled his eyes. 

‘Stephen says you have to drink it. Despite its colour.’

‘It’s disgusting.’

It might not be as bad as it was. He found some goja juice in one of your cupboards.’

He looked sceptical. ‘I had goja juice?’

‘Cordial, I think.’

‘Great. Can’t be more than four years old, I suppose.’ He took the glass.

‘I’m really sorry about… back then.’

Shaking his head, John sighed. ‘How were you to know the smell of mustard would cause a… whatever that was?’

‘Stephen said it was either a panic attack or a programmed response.’

‘Programmed response? What use would me… losing it over a sandwich be?’

Jack struggled with that one. ‘Instilling weakness, establishing control over you. I have no idea.’ He looked at the man he felt like he’d known for most of his life, carefully moving one hand to rest against his shoulder. ‘It breaks my heart, what they did to you.’

John didn’t respond to that directly. Instead, he said, ‘When the interrogator gave me the sandwich… I hadn’t eaten for two, three days. I was starving.’

‘Did they give you anything clean?’

‘No. Not solids. They had me on an IV. Then the interrogator took it out, told me he’d put it back if I cooperated. Honestly, I was sure I was going to die in one of those rooms, and after a couple of days, I hoped it would be sooner rather than later.’

Jack moved his hand up to the back of John’s neck, fingers absently brushing the hairs at the base of his skull. John sat back into his touch and turned his head to meet his gaze.

‘Back on the Aggy… I almost killed you.’

‘Aw, John… you had no choice. I was ready and willing to give my life to save Earth. I knew what the risk was, what the price of victory was likely to be. I’d made my peace with it. Besides, I was planning on giving you a hard time in the afterlife.’

John smiled. ‘You’re the last person in the whole universe I would want to hurt. At that moment, I honestly wished it had been anyone but you there with me. But now we’re here, alive, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am that it was you, and that you’re still here.’

Jack felt something shift inside him, something heavy and vital. He didn’t know what, exactly, but it brought back a memory of Ganymede from a long, long time ago, and he felt a warmth spread through him that he hadn’t felt in ages.

*

He popped out to get some food a couple of hours later, after his aborted brunch, leaving John sleeping on the couch. He was gone under half an hour, but when he got back it was to empty rooms. Using the link they'd given him for emergencies, he contacted Stephen.

‘Maynard to MedLab 1.’

There was a brief pause before Stephen responded. ‘Jack? Is everything all right?’

‘Is John with you?’

‘No. He should be in his quarters.’

‘I’m here and he isn’t.’ Another pause. ‘Shit.’

He linked in to security, and a man called Zack answered. A few minutes later they’d located John in the Zocalo, and Zack was closest to his position. Jack was already heading there, still linked in with Stephen and security. 

‘Don’t crowd him or force him to move unless he’s in immediate danger,’ Stephen was saying, ‘try not to touch him, particularly not his wrists or hands.’

  


Zack saw him through the throng; sitting in the centre of a row of crates at the edge of the Zocalo, under a low metal beam, half in the dark. He approached cautiously, leaving his link open to the doctor and whoever Jack was; Stephen seemed to trust him so he was obviously one of the good guys. As he got closer, he could see half of Sheridan’s left hand was bandaged, he had a cast on his right wrist. Closer still, even in the semi-darkness he could see the injuries to his face and neck, the rest of him hidden by his dark clothes. The way he was sitting, the way he was looking around, he didn’t seem certain where he was.

Zack slowed and approached cautiously. ‘Captain?’ He got no response. ‘John?’ Sheridan looked up at him, and he could see the fear in his eyes. He stopped where he was, a foot away. ‘How about I take you back to your quarters?’ There was no recognition in his expression, nothing to say he’d understood what Zack had said. He was still trying to decide what to do next when Marcus seemed to appear out of nowhere beside him. He took in the situation and thankfully apparently understood more than Zack did.

‘Captain. It’s a busy time here in the Zocalo.’ Zack watched Sheridan turn to look up at the ranger, fear slowly turning to curiosity. ‘There are a lot more aliens here aboard Babylon 5 at the moment. Must be the holiday season. I’ve heard that Babylon 5 is be the top holiday destination this year.’ He pointed to the crate Sheridan was sitting on. ‘Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?’ He paused but didn’t wait for an answer that obviously wasn’t coming. He sat, not too close to the captain, not in any way hemming him in. ‘Zack? Do you want to sit with us?’ Still uncertain, Zack sat down on Sheridan’s right, making sure there was plenty of space between them. He watched him tense, as if getting ready to run, but he kept his hands on his knees, kept his eyes looking outwards at the bustle in front of them, and by increments the captain relaxed again. Marcus was still talking. ‘I find watching the activity here in the Zocalo very relaxing somehow. The coming and going, the ebb and flow of it all. It’s lunchtime, which is why it’s so busy. People working here on Babylon 5 all looking for something to eat, ambassadors in discussions, businessmen holding meetings. It’s the beating heart of the station. Don’t you think, John?’

Zack glanced across. Sheridan’s head was turned in Marcus’ direction, but he couldn’t see his face. Marcus though was smiling, a gentle expression. 

‘John....’

A bearded man dropped to a crouch in front of them and immediately the captain leaned forward, reaching for him. 

‘Jack.’ His voice sounded rough, but he was definitely happy to see this guy. 

Whoever Jack was, he took his hands in a gentle hold, avoiding his bandaged fingers, shifting closer. ‘Do you know where you are?’

A nod. ‘Zocalo, Babylon 5.’ Zack stood, and saw the grateful way Sheridan looked at Marcus. ‘Thanks.’

The ranger inclined his head. ‘It’s nice to take a break during the day. Although this probably isn’t the best place for you at the moment.’

‘No. I think you’re right.’ He looked at Jack, apologised, and gave Zack an apologetic glance too, something Zack didn’t know what to do with. 

Jack was shaking his head, soft smile on his face definitely meant for Sheridan. ‘If you want to go exploring you just have to say the word. I’ll be happy to walk the station with you.’

‘I just needed to get out of my quarters.’

‘I get that. Do you want to stay here for a bit?’

‘Maybe... somewhere quieter?’

‘Okay.’ Jack stood slowly, still holding the captain’s hands, and he followed him up. Then Jack let go but stayed close, thanked Marcus and Zack before turning his full attention back to Sheridan, falling into step beside him as they skirted the edges of the crowds, heading for the exit.

Zack let out a relieved breath and sat down again. ‘Give me a madman with a weapon and I don’t miss a beat. Then I come face to face with a man I’ve known for years and fluff it.’

‘You didn’t fluff it,’ Marcus reassured. ‘You didn’t cause him to panic and that’s not an easy feat at the moment. He just needs time, space and understanding, to come to terms with everything and recover from his injuries.’

‘Shouldn’t he be in MedLab?’

‘Staying inactive means he has too much time to think, to remember and dwell on what happened. Plus, I imagine after being locked up in a metal chair in a dark, dismal room for seven days, he needs to be able to walk through doors, into and out of places, to convince himself he’s a free man.’ Zack couldn’t even imagine what the captain was going through. ‘One step at a time and he’ll get there eventually. He’s surrounded by friends.’

‘Speaking of which, who was the guy with the beard?’

‘Jack Maynard, EarthForce captain, an old friend from what I can gather. I don’t know him all that well yet, but I have a feeling he’ll be around for a while.’

*

At the sound of the door chime, G’Kar looked up from the book that Garibaldi had given him years back, one he’d never got around to reading before now. 

'Come.’ He was surprised to see Captain Sheridan step cautiously into his candle-lit quarters, looking a little apprehensive. 

'If it’s not convenient….'

G’Kar put down the book and unfolded himself, getting to his feet, amazed. 'Captain, it’s never inconvenient as far as you are concerned. Come in, make yourself at home.'

He watched as John glanced over his shoulder when the door closed behind him; an unconscious gesture that G’Kar completely understood. 'I can leave the door open….'

'No. No, it’s fine.' There was nervous edge to his voice. 'I’m… a little jumpy.'

'Of course you are. Under the circumstances, you have every right to be. Please, sit. Can I get you some tea?'

'Water, please.'

'Doctor’s orders?'

John nodded. Hesitantly, he pulled up the long, loose sleeve of his jumper and G’Kar saw the medical bag attached by a strap to his arm. 

‘This is the only way I’m getting nutrition at the moment.’

G’Kar winced. ‘And how long is that little torture going to last?’

‘A couple more weeks.’ It had been three already. Stephen kept saying things were improving but he was starting to miss food. He counted that as a good sign. 

G’Kar handed him a glass. ‘Apart from that, how are you? And I mean the question, Captain, please don’t feel you need to sugarcoat your answer. I’ve been where you’ve been, where you are.’

John hesitated, but he’d obviously come here for a reason. ‘How do you know what’s real?'

It struck G’Kar just how fragile humans were. This great man, who’d lead the Alliance fleet to victory over the corruption in EarthForce and the Earth Government, looked now as if the slightest push could break him. 

He himself had been a prisoner of war, a casualty of battle between two conflicted races. But Sheridan had suffered at the hands of his own people, the very people who had put him on Babylon 5 in the first place. 

G’Kar looked into tired eyes and wondered where the rage was, how deeply it was buried and how long it would take to surface. He wondered if Sheridan knew it was there at all.

‘Captain,’ G’Kar started softly, ‘the pain is real, therefore this is real. The cowards who held you played mind-games, they brutalised and terrorised you until you didn’t know where you were, and started to lose who you are. But you can be sure you’re here, now. You can be be sure of me, and of your friends, those who love and care for you. They will look after you. That is something you can believe in, something you can hold on to.’

He paused, watching for a reaction, seeing a slight and unconvincing nod. ‘Tell me, what’s your clearest memory from before you were captured? The last thing you remember that haunts you?’

John hesitated, and G’Kar waited.

‘I met Michael in a bar on Mars. He’d said he had information about my father, but as it turned out that was a lie. He’d lured me there for Clarke’s men to get their hands on me. I remember clearly, asking him what he needed me to do and him replying that I’d already done it. His hand came down on mine and I felt this pain like… a thousand needles, racing up my arm. I tried to get away and when I realised I didn’t stand a chance, I tried to fight. I landed a couple of punches, probably broke a couple of my own fingers, but I was getting dizzy, and once I went down, I couldn’t get back up.’ Sheridan sat forward, gripping the glass so hard, G’Kar was worried he was going to break it and cut himself on the shards. ‘I felt every kick, every blow, until the pain got too much, the drug got too strong, and I lost consciousness. Throughout it all, Michael just sat there, watching. Throughout the time they had me, I clung to my hatred of him because it was something I knew was real. 

‘Now I know… it wasn’t. It wasn’t him. It was Bester, walking around in his mind, using him as a… puppet, a slave, for his own purposes. So much of what happened over the last year wasn’t real.’ He looked up, and G’Kar saw tears in his eyes, picked up by the candle light. There was something like despair in his expression. ‘If I’d just thought about it, seen what was happening, questioned it, just once, I could have stopped it. But I didn’t, I didn’t understand what I’d done to make him hate me that much. I thought it was all about me. I was so selfish….’

‘You are not responsible for Bester’s actions in the same way Mr Garibaldi isn’t. But knowing the truth doesn’t change your memories. Cause and the effect are two completely separate events. The reasons for Mr Garibaldi handing you over to your enemy doesn’t change what you went through at their hands.’

Sheridan looked up, seeking out understanding in G’Kar’s calm gaze. ‘How do I move past this?’

‘You don’t. You have to accept that you’ve had these experiences, however horrible, however terrifying. You have to make your peace with them, find some way of letting the memories exist in your mind, along with the better times that went before, and the better times that will come after.’

‘I don’t know how to do that.’

‘Not yet. But you will find a way, with the help of those of us who love you.’

Sheridan gave him the briefest of smiles. ‘You have more faith in me than I do.’

‘Everything I’ve seen you and your crew do aboard this station, Captain, the lives you’ve saved, the decisions you’ve had to make. My faith in you is complete and unwavering.’

*

While John was with G’Kar, Jack and Michael took a walk to hydroponics. They leaned together on the railing overlooking the fruit trees but neither spoke for a while.

The silence that stretched between them had a strange quality, like elastic. Jack’s problem with Michael had no basis given what he now knew about the man’s abduction and brainwashing by psi-corp. Still, the distress and anger of hearing about John’s arrest, waiting that long week for news, all the time trying not to think about what he might be going through, and the sight of him in the shuttle when it had docked with the Aggy… it wouldn’t go away while he could still see the pain in John’s eyes. He was finding it difficult shifting the blame to a faceless group when the one man who’d set the wheels in motion was right there.

‘I tried to talk him out of going,’ he murmured. ‘He knew it could have been a trap but he went anyway. Because he loves his father. You did the one thing guaranteed to get his attention, to get him to risk everything.’

‘I know.’

‘He said he’d be gone a couple of hours. They had him seven days. I watched his struggle just to stand up when his transport docked with the Agamemnon. So yes, when I saw him, I wanted to find you and tear you limb from limb. I have never hated anyone as much as I hated you in that moment, and in all the moments that followed, because he led the fleet to victory with broken bones and internal bleeding, drugged to the eyeballs just to keep him moving. Because the fleet needed him, Earth needed him.’ He pushed away from the railing and started to pace. ‘Did you know what they’d do to him?’

Michael nodded. ’A week before, they’d have killed him on sight. But Wade and Edgars kept talking about treatment, John getting the treatment he deserved. I knew what that meant, deep down, but I didn’t admit it to myself until Bester let me go. That’s why I had to get John out. I tried contacting Susan and when that failed I found the resistance. I knew they’d grab me the first chance they got. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear Stephen’s voice, because while I wasn’t sure the resistance would give a fuck, I knew Stephen would. Having Lyta there to scan me, to find the truth, saved my life and in turn saved John’s. I knew if they moved him to Earth, we’d never see him again.’

It hurt to hear it, but Jack knew he’d have to let it go, soon or later. ‘What are you to John?’ he asked finally, although he was sure he already knew the answer.

‘What am I? A confusion, I think. He’s trying to trust me again, while all the time his brain must be telling him I’m a danger to him.’ He shook his head. ‘In the past, over a year ago, we were lovers. On and off. Nothing serious, but… I loved him, still love him. That was before he committed suicide on Z’Ha’Dum and I was taken by psi-corp to be used as a fucking puppet.’

Jack’s brain skipped over Michael's words until it caught on two of them.

‘Committed suicide?’

‘I don’t know the whole story. I wasn’t me by the time I got back. I do know he died. And I know there was an alien, Lorien, one of first ones, who resurrected him.’

‘First ones?’

‘Immortal beings that were living at the heart of the planet. Lorien gave him some sort of energy, which is what’s keeping him alive.’

Jack stared. ‘What?’

‘Honestly, I don’t know. It sounds crazy but I swear that’s what they told me.’

‘Okay....’ It was a lot to unpack. 

‘We were at war with the Shadows. John took it upon himself to fly a ship, carrying two thermonuclear explosives, to their home planet. Z’Ha’Dum. He was on the surface when it detonated. He was killed. But as I said, this ancient being brought him back.’

‘By sharing his life force....’

‘Yeah.’

‘But… John’s not immortal?’

‘No. It won’t last forever. From what I gathered, before I stopped caring and turned my back on him, he’s got maybe twenty years.’

Of everything Michael had said, those words were the ones he had difficulty processing. ‘But that’s... that’s impossible.’

‘I thought he might have told you… but then John doesn’t tell anyone the important stuff, does he?’

Jack really didn’t hear him. He was distracted by another thought. ‘If there’s some kind of energy keeping him alive, and he’s badly hurt, does it take more energy to heal? Does this… lessen the time he’s got left?’ He saw the answer in Michael’s eyes. ‘Fuck.’

‘I spent three years trying to protect him. Turns out I’m the one he needed protecting from.’

‘You know that’s not true.’ Jack looked away, watched a couple of techs watering the vegetation. ‘He can’t have made your life easy. He was always a rogue.’

Michael chuckled, going with it. ‘You have no idea. Spacewalks, impromptu solo flights, breaking up bar brawls, hurtling off chasing alien ships, and when we could get him to stay on the station he liked to investigate mysteries, to go wandering through the places everyone else was wise enough to stay away from.’

‘He’s always been curious, impetuous, a pain in the ass. If anyone in my command was going to get into trouble, nine times out of ten it would be him. I guess that’s why we hit it off, stayed friends after he was posted to the Prometheus. It was a trait I admired in him because it reminded me of me.’

‘The first time we met, I wasn’t in a great place. My best friend had gone, replaced by a stranger. Within weeks he had me on side, in a couple of months he’d invited familiarity and engendered loyalty in a way I’d never known before. When it all went to hell, he was someone we knew we could turn to, rely on and trust. He and I got close. And things got… intimate. First time we slept together, it just happened, everything coming to a head, both of us looking for some sort of release. Or that’s what I told myself.’ He folded his arms on the railing and dropped his head to them. ‘I fell in love without meaning to, without wanting to. I don’t know if John did. I hope not. Because that would make what Bester made me do all that much worse, and I don’t… I honestly don’t think I could live with myself.’ He lifted his head. ‘It’s bad enough knowing he went through all that on Mars thinking he’d done something to turn me against him. After Bester released me, after he showed me everything I’d done… I’d have eaten a PPG shot had I not known where they were holding John and how to free him.’

Jack was quiet for a couple of minutes until he asked. ‘What happened to this Bester guy?’

‘I have no idea. Part of me wants to go searching for him, to tear him limb from limb. Part of me knows he’ll come around again, sooner or later, and that there are more important things to focus on. And I can’t believe I’m saying that, because more than anything I want to kill that bastard.’

‘John needs you here.’

‘No. John needs you here.’

Jack shook his head. 'He wants me here because when his grip on reality slides out from under him, he can still be sure I’m real. He just needs to learn to trust you again, and he will. I know he can hold a grudge with the best of them, but he knows you weren’t responsible for your actions. He’ll get there. Just… stay, and give him time.’

‘I’ve no intention of going anywhere.’ Michael straightened. ‘Can I ask you something?’

’You can ask.’

‘What have you seen over the last year, media-wise?’

‘ISN, mostly. There were rumours about Susan’s Voice of the Resistance broadcasts but they never made it out as far as us.’

‘So all you heard was the propaganda and the lies.’

‘I heard them calling him all sorts of things. I heard you calling him dangerous, sick, a wannabe dictator.’

‘Did you ever-?‘

‘No, I didn’t believe a word of it. I trust John with my life; always have, always will.’

*

John managed six weeks. Stephen was surprised they got that far before he came barging into MedLab one morning, Jack in tow.

‘You have to let me go back to work!’

He looked up from the paperwork he was trying to catch up on. ‘Absolutely not.’

Behind John’s shoulder, Jack was succeeding in looking both apologetic and hopeful. 

'Stephen....'

He shook his head adamantly. 'No!'

'I can’t just sit around doing nothing. I need to be doing something. I’m driving myself crazy. I’m driving Jack crazy. Hell, I’m driving everyone crazy.’

It was bluster and Stephen knew it. ‘John, be reasonable. You ate your first solid meal in a month an a half yesterday. I know you’re having trouble sleeping. There are still toxins and psychotropics in your body. You still have injuries. Your body is in various states of shock, any further strain on it is going to be detrimental to your health. You. Have. To. Rest.’

‘For how long?'

‘However long it takes.’ Standing, moving around the desk, Stephen ran his hand lightly down John’s arm in a simple gesture of comfort. 'You have to give yourself time.’

‘I haven’t had nothing to do in as long as I can remember. As lovely as it is to reconnect with Jack here, he has responsibilities.’ Behind him, Jack was shaking his head. Stephen tried to hide his smile. John threw a glance back over his shoulder. ‘You’re not helping.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Doc. I’ve got too much time to think, and right now, the less time I spend in my own head, the better.’

That was another thing they needed to do something about, but talking through his experiences wasn’t going to be easy or stress-free, and if Stephen was certain of anything, it was that John wasn’t up to seeing a therapist yet.

Against his better judgement, he gave in. ‘Fine. I’ll allow you back on restricted duty. Paperwork only. No council meetings, operational discussions, decisions or responsibilities resting on your shoulders. You can work with Commander Ivanova, but you will not take back command of this station until I say so. Is that clear?'

John nodded, the smile almost touching his eyes. 'Thank you.'

‘If Jack starts to get worried, you’re back on full medical leave. If your monitor raises a single alarm, you’re back on medical leave. Are we clear?’

‘Absolutely.’

'I mean it. I’m serious, John.'

‘I know.’ He blinked, and in that one unguarded moment, Stephen saw fear in those expressive grey eyes. 

‘I will look after you,' he reassured. ‘You will make a full recovery. I just need you to work with me. The IVs, the meds, the monitoring, I’m not subjecting you to all that because I’m a sadist.’ The fragility of John’s carefully constructed facade was suddenly very obvious. He lowered his voice. ‘I love you, John. Patching you up on Mars and sending you into battle was the single hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I hate to see you in pain and I don’t want any decision I make to hurt you anymore than you already have been.’

He hadn’t actually meant to say it. He was surprised by the strength of his own emotion, surprised too that John took a step towards him and pulled him into a hug as tight as he could with his body still mending. Stephen returned it, held his friend for a time, put his face in John’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of his soap and the slightly medical smell from the dressings that were still a patchwork under his clothes.

He muttered an apology and felt John shake his head.

‘Don’t apologise for caring about me,’ he said when he let go.

Stephen moved back behind his desk, using the moment to compose himself. 

’I want to see you every morning, ten-hundred hours, before you start work.’

‘That’s the middle of the morning.’

‘And if you’re still at work, or even thinking about work, after sixteen hundred, I’ll put you back on medical leave.’

‘Six hours isn’t-‘

‘Six hours. Five days a week. Take it or leave it.’

‘I’ll take it.’ He smiled, grateful, before he turned to leave.

‘Jack -‘

Maynard raised his head. ‘Don’t let him out of my sight. Gotcha.’

*

Jack settled into step at John’s side. 

‘If you’re going back to work, there’s something you should know, assuming no one’s told you yet who the new EarthDome liaison officer is....’

A second later, John’s laughter echoed along the corridor. It was a wonderful sound.

*

Michael turned a few heads when he walked into C&C, but a long time ago he’d learnt that if you looked like you were supposed to be somewhere, people tended to assume you were. 

‘Captain,’ he announced his arrival quietly, stepping into Sheridan’s line of sight before he was close enough to touch. Just in case. John was armed. Michael didn’t want him to momentarily forget that he was one of the good guys. 

He turned from the view and smiled warmly. ‘Mike. Sorry… I was…’

‘Staring into space?’

‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it was up here.’

‘It’s probably been a while since you’ve had a chance to appreciate it, given the number of crisis continuously going on behind you.’ He gazed out at the stars, the quiet jump gate, bots going about their business, starfuries on guard duty, a few more than usual he thought. Fire power stepped up as a precautionary measure. Protecting something - someone - certain factions might still want to take a potshot at. 

Otherwise, C&C was quiet. 

‘Stephen said he’d allowed you’d back on restricted duties only….’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m just here for the view. I’m not in charge. That’s still on Susan.’

‘And… where’s Jack?’ He couldn’t see the ever-present starship captain anywhere. 

John smiled wanly. ‘Helping Susan out with a particularly delicate political situation. He’s not Lorien. He’s here for me, because as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t let go at the moment. He’s a lifeline and I need him.’ 

Michael held up his hands. ‘Hey. I know. I’m sorry. I’m the last person you should be explaining yourself to.’

‘Please don’t hate him.’

‘I don’t, believe me. He’s a good guy. He loves you. He’ll protect you at all costs and I appreciate that.’

’Thank you.’

Michael glanced out at the familiar view beyond the glass, memories flooding back. He’d spent a quarter of his life aboard this station. If anywhere was home, this was. This, and in so many ways the man beside him.

‘Hey, I meant to ask if there was anything you might have forgotten to tell me when we were together, maybe about the first Mrs Sheridan?’ He kept his tone deliberately playful because John owed him nothing.

‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that. It was so long ago. And we were only married three months.’

‘Really not worth mentioning at all,’ Michael teased.

The subspace comms bleeped and one of the crew answered the calling ship’s request. It was the start of a series of comms and actions, C&C coming to life.

‘How about we leave them to it?’ Michael suggested. ‘Before you experience an overwhelming urge to get involved?’

The observation dome wasn’t far. One of the benches looking out into space was free, and they sat down, John leaning forward to take in what was arguably an even more magnificent view than in C&C. 

‘In my defence,’ John started. ‘I didn’t tell you about Liz because when you and I got together, there was a lot going on and I honestly never imagined I would ever see her again.’

‘That’s reasonable. Did she side with you, against Clarke?’

‘No. But don’t hold that against her.’ There was the obvious, unspoken, /I don’t hold it against you/.

‘You know, John, For a hard-nosed soldier, an Earth Alliance captain and the Leader of the Army of Light, you can be a real big softie sometimes.’

Michael was surprised when he felt hot skin and cool metal touch his fingers. Glancing down, he saw John’s hand resting against his own and caught his breath, tears springing unbidden into his eyes. 

‘If you need my forgiveness, Mike, it’s yours. I forgive you. But I don’t hold you responsible for any of it. You’re as much of a survivor as me.’

Michael ghosted his thumb over the pins in his little finger. Asking if it hurt was simpler than trying to untangle his feelings with regards to John’s words right at that moment.

John shook his head. ‘Stephen says the nerves are dead. I suppose the whole finger’s dying. He’s going to amputate it, give me a prosthetic.’

‘What’s he waiting for?’ 

‘Me to be well enough to cope with the surgery.’

‘Sorry, that was such a stupid question.’

‘A wise man once said, there are no stupid questions.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

They sat for a long time, staring out at the stars, watching the ships coming and going. Life on Babylon 5 never stopped. 

*

Stephen amputated John’s pinkie in a quick operation a week after his return to restricted duties. The prosthetic was attached almost seamlessly, and once the swelling was down and the stitches were out, a tiny scar would be the only outward sign of anything untoward. It would look natural. For the time being, it was swaddled in bandages along with the finger next to it.

Stephen managed to operate under local anaesthetic and without incident. He drafted in Jack to sit in on the surgery and keep John distracted while his little finger was cut off and the prosthetic put in its place. Jack ensured John didn’t see or feel anything until the bandages hid the results from view.

Stephen was so happy with his progress that he released him that same evening, on the condition that he rested for twenty four hours before going back to work. 

While John got dressed again, he took the opportunity to check on what was happening with Jack. ‘Any update on your situation?’

‘EarthGov’s still in chaos. But it sounds like I might get command of the Agamemnon within the month, if I want it.’

Stephen was surprised, although he wasn't sure why. ‘Have you told him?’

‘Not yet.’ Glancing through the observation window to where a nurse was helping John with his sweater, Stephen’s heart went out to him. ‘Hey, doc, if he’s not ready for me to go, I won’t go.’

‘You’re a lifeline.’

‘Yes. But he’s letting go by increments, reclaiming his independence slowly.’

John made it out of the recovery room under his own steam, but Jack got an arm around his waist just in time to stop him falling forward.

‘Should I be keeping you here overnight?’ Stephen worried, and predictably John shook his head. 

‘I’m fine, Doc. I stood up too fast, that’s all.’

‘Right.’ To Jack he said, ‘Keep an eye on him. I’ll pop by later.’

*

'It’s good to be here again.' 

Bester sat down, accepting glass from Commander Lochley. 'I like Babylon 5, it’s a home away from home for me. They’ve given you your own office, I see. I’ve never been afforded so much hospitality. The best I can usually expect is my own cell in the brig.’

Lochley sat down in her chair and leaned forward. 'I had to get EarthGov to authorise it. They haven’t exactly welcomed me here either.’

'You’ll find they don’t particularly like anyone in authority.' Bester shrugged. 'I try not to take it personally.'

She smiled. She found his company refreshingly honest and straight forward. They’d met before, a few years ago, and they’d got on very well indeed. She hadn’t been sure that inviting him aboard had been the right thing to do, after everything that had happened, but he’d been nothing but courteous and friendly.

'Why don’t you tell me about your little problem, and I will see what I can do to help.'

She told him about Byron, about his band of telepaths and his association with Lyta Alexander. She told him of the problems the station had been having, and the support the command staff was giving to the telepaths.

'I can’t do anything officially,’ she said by way of an apology. 'They won’t go for it. But if there’s anything you can do, unofficially I would be extremely grateful.’

Bester placed his empty cup on the desk in front of them. 'I am used to working around the bureaucracy and hypocrisy-’

There was a yell of abject fury from our in the corridor, followed by Garibaldi barrelling into the room, voice raised, eyes flashing with rage and hatred.

In between his shouts of accusation and threat, all directed toward Bester, Lochley managed to order a security team into her office. 

The small team that arrived were hesitant about arresting their ex-chief, despite him closing in on Lochley’s guest. He was ranting, his threats against Bester drowning out what the commander was threatening to do to the security guards if they didn’t obey her orders.

Finally they each grabbed one of Garibaldi’s arms and dragged him away from the psi-cop. ’Come on, Chief.'

Lochley watched as Michael gawped first at one then at the other before yelling at them, 'You’d side with him?!'

She raised her voice above his. 'Get him out of here!'

*

Garibaldi found it easy to relax once he was locked in the cell.

He lay back, closed his eyes and imagined tearing Bester apart, slowly and with his bare hands. He passed the time that way for what might have been minutes or might have been hours before he heard a voice outside, a very familiar, very wonderful voice. The voice of command.

'No! You listen to me!'

Even through the walls, Garibaldi could hear the underlying tremor in the captain’s voice, but that didn’t detract from the force of his words or the power of his presence.

‘This is my station. I am captain of Babylon 5 and my order countermands any other order given. If you want to keep your posts here, I suggest you don’t question me again. Do you understand? Now, release him.'

Michael’s heart swelled. At that moment he didn’t believe he’d ever loved anyone quite as much. He sat up in time to watch the door open and to see John lean against the doorjamb, his arms crossed loosely. He was one of the most beautiful sights Michael had ever seen. 

He looked exhausted, like coming down here to get his ex-security chief released had taken every ounce of energy he possessed. It was late. Michael could only hope they hadn’t roused him from bed. But his smile... Michael would have died for that smile. It was a combination of mischief, pride and maybe a little love.

'You’ve been a naughty boy, raising hell in Commander Lochley’s office.’

Garibaldi shrugged, a little surprised. 'I wanted to kill him,' he admitted frankly. 'If you think for that I deserve….’ John’s smile faded and Michael trailed off. ‘Oh, Jesus… you don’t know.’

‘Don’t know what?'

'John... Bester’s aboard.' 

By the time Michael got to his feet, John was off, running. How he could even move that fast, Michael didn’t know. A second before, he’d looked wiped out, ready to drop.

‘Fuck!’

John beat him to Lochley’s office, but only by a second or two. As he rounded the corner, in through the door, he skidded to a halt. Sheridan and Bester were standing face to face in the centre of the room, staring at one another.

'What the...?' The half-asked question was out of his mouth before his brain caught up. They were fighting; silent and more dangerous than any punch-up.

Judging by the expression on his face, Bester was pushing, harder and harder. And John was blocking him, calmly with very little effort.

Michael glanced at Lochley. He knew what she was going to before she did it, but he was too far away to stop her. ‘For Christ’s sake! Don’t!‘

Her hand dropped to John's shoulder. He lost his concentration for just a moment but it was more than enough.

Bester slipped in passed his defences and clawed into the fragile places in his mind.

John’s hands flew to his head. His knees buckled and Michael made a split second decision not to catch him, but instead to launch himself at Bester, hands gripping the man around his throat, using his rage to drive him back into the wall. 

‘Let him go!’

John’s strangled screams behind him were a clear sign he hadn’t. 

'You fucking bastard! I said, let him go!' He slammed Bester’s head against the wall, desperate to break the connection, to wipe the arrogant grin from his face. It wasn’t working. Damn it, why wasn’t he armed?

A spark of inspiration; he wasn’t, but John was. Releasing his grip, he turned and dropped to a crouch, pulling the PPG from its holster on John’s waist and turning it in an elegant sweep to aim at Bester’s head.

‘Let him go.'

The corners of the psi cop’s mouth turned up and he blinked. The screaming stopped. He heard Lochley yelling into her link, requesting a medical team and security. He glanced back at John, curled up on the floor, still clutching his head and crying, a horrible sound of pain. 

It was almost impossible to leave him a second longer without reassurance, but Michael tore his attention away and turned back to Bester. He pulled the trigger on the PPG.

Or at least, he thought he did. But it didn’t fire. He tried again, looking down at his hand on the third attempt and realising it wasn’t working because he wasn’t firing. 

He couldn’t pull the tigger. 

Furious, he turned, blowing a hole in the wall behind him, destroying a glass vase in the process.

He returned his aim to Bester’s head. 

Nothing.

Bester finally pushed himself away from the wall, taking a step forwards, forcing Michael to take a step back.

'Mr Garibaldi,' he stepped over John and moved to Lochley’s side. 'On a scale of one to ten... just how stupid do you think I am?'

*

Stephen rested his hand ever so gently against John’s hair. He lay still on the bed in MedLab, EKG tracking his brainwaves, ECG monitoring his heartbeat. A scan had revealed burst blood vessels on the surface of the brain, a minor haematoma. Emergency surgery to drill a pin-sized hole in John’s skull had alleviated the pressure and he was going to be okay. 

There was no other physical damage, but Stephen wasn’t in any doubt that Bester’s attack had added to psychological damage already inflicted weeks ago.

When he’d reached Lochley’s quarters along with the medical team, when he’d realised it was John curled up on the floor, almost hysterical, he’d wanted to hurt someone so badly it had shocked him. Michael was with him, had his head cradled in his lap, but his pleas when he saw Stephen were desperate.

‘Help him, please. There’s nothing I can do.’

He’d run an initial examination without moving him. He’d found blood in John’s ears and around his eyes, his pulse had been racing, putting terrible strain on his overtaxed system, edging him towards cardiac arrest.

He’d administered a sedative then and there, and waited with his hand on John’s shoulder until his breathing had slowed and his pulse had dropped back. Only then had he risked moving him.

He’d not even been aware of anyone else in the room. 

He’d had security find Jack while John was taken to MedLab. Maynard’s anger had been palpable; there was a fist-shaped hole in the wall next to the main door which was testament to that. Susan had given him one swing and blocked the second.

‘Breaking your hand won’t help him.’

‘I should have been with him. I had no idea he’d even gone out.’

‘Apparently Liz had security page him, tell him about Michael being arrested.’

‘He should have woken me.’

‘Don’t worry. The guard in question has been suspended.’

‘What’s that psi cop even doing here? What the fuck does Liz think she’s playing at, letting him set foot aboard this station?’ 

‘I don’t know. But I am going to find out.’

‘I’m telling you, I want to break that bastard’s face and I’ve never even met him.’ 

Susan had put her arms around him and hugged him. 

He was on the other side of the observation window now, watching, still seething. Michael beside him. Stephen knew they were waiting for him to update them but he wasn’t quite ready to leave John’s side. Sliding his hand over the greying hair, over one shoulder and carefully down his blanket-covered arm, he squeezed John’s fingers gently. 

The EKG gave a muted warning bleep and he glanced up at it. He’d taken the decision to keep John sedated for the time being but the monitor was showing bursts of activity. He hoped they were just dreams.

They agreed it would be best for Jack to stay with him, to be the first one John saw when Stephen dialled back the sedative and let him wake naturally. They had no idea what might be going on in John’s head. If the bursts of activity on the EKG were nightmares, Jack was the least likely to be in them. 

Michael explained what had happened, and after much swearing, followed by a slightly calmer discussion, Stephen put a call into the base on Mars.

*

In one of the station’s cells, Bester sat on the hard bed, his eyes closed, reliving in his own mind the torture he’d found in Sheridan’s.

He watched from the position of voyeur, saving every crack of bone, every grunt of pain. He smiled through the vomiting. Hummed when he wet himself with no way of cleaning it up.

Bester was impressed. Mundanes were crude in their techniques, but nevertheless effective.

It was the repetition that Bester liked most of all, the idea of a cycle that would just go round and round, getting no better and no worse, never ending.

Of course, had Sheridan been held by Psi-Corp they would have simply raped his mind until he was exactly what they wanted him to be. It was less messy, less time-consuming. But not as much fun.

What had happened in Lochley’s office concerned him. Sheridan wasn’t a telepath, he knew that for a fact, so how was the man able to block him? He’d searched for the answer as he’d been busy riffling through the captain’s mind, but it had alluded him.

Eventually he tired of watching Sheridan’s torture and stopped it like a film reel in his mind. He turned his thoughts instead to the beautiful Commander Lochley.

He’d been made aware that Lochley and Sheridan had history, yet she hadn’t shown any loyalty toward him at all. She’d even gone so far as to break his concentration when they’d been fighting, although he doubted she’d done it deliberately.

It was a shame, he’d have quite liked to take her out from under the captain’s nose. But such small pleasures were transitory at best.

Carolyn was still on the station. He’d found that out from Doctor Franklin. He’d been worried that they’d used her during the war as one of the telepaths planted aboard the EarthForce ships at the end. But they hadn’t. She was still on the station, still in stasis, still frozen until they could find a way of saving her life. For that, he was grateful.

*

Lyta’s ship docked late in the afternoon. They met in MedLab and she scanned Michael’s mind, easily finding the block Bester had put there. 

Michael was insistent. ‘Get it out.’

But she refused. ‘If I try to tamper with it, the side effects might be fatal. He may have booby-trapped it. If I attempt to meddle, anything might happen.'

'I don’t care.’ He was adamant. 

'It could kill you.'

‘I. Don’t. Care.’ Stephen stepped forward, trying to talk some sense into him. But Michael turned on him. ‘You don’t understand. What have I got if I can’t kill that bastard? If I can’t ever have my revenge? I can’t live like this!’

‘Don’t you dare.’ Stephen turned and pointed through the observation window at where John lay, unconscious, an exhausted Jack Maynard still at his side. ‘That man needs you. After everything he’s been through, don’t you dare let Bester win. Don’t you dare walk away from him again.’

‘I made him a promise. I swore I’d kill the bastard, for him, for me…. I’m useless to him if I can’t keep that promise. I can’t even protect him.’

For a moment, he thought Michael might start breaking things. But other than knocking over the stool he’d been sitting on as he stood up, he left MedLab without doing any damage.

*

John came aware in stages, initially of a headache, then a throbbing behind his eyeballs. He was lying on his back, and wherever he was, it was mercifully quiet and dark. He blinked a couple of times, opening his eyes when he was certain it wasn’t going to cause undue pain. He recognised the ceiling in his bedroom and relief flooded through him.

Now he was awake, he could hear someone else breathing, and turning his head gingerly to the left he was surprised to see Jack lying on his side next to him, fast asleep. 

‘John?’ The whisper came from the other side of the room, and he looked to the right to see Stephen rising from the chair in the corner. 

‘Doc. What happened?’

He perched on the bed. ‘Can you tell me how you’re feeling first?’

‘My head hurts.’

‘Okay. I can give you something for that.’ He took a small torch from his pocket. ‘I’m sorry, John, I need to check your pupil dilation.’ The bright light startled him, but it was just for a moment and then it was gone. ‘Do you know where you are?’

‘My quarters.’

‘Good. And do you… feel like yourself?’

He didn’t quite understand the question. ‘I guess?’ That seemed to be the right answer. He watched Stephen prepare a hypo and let him inject it into his neck. Almost instantly the pain in his head receded and the throbbing behind his eyes stopped. He breathed easier, relieved. ‘Thank you.’

‘Try to get some sleep.’

‘Is Jack okay?’

‘He’s fine, just exhausted. He wanted to be with you when you woke, I wanted him to be the first person you saw, but he needed sleep and MedLab got a bit... chaotic.’

He still didn’t remember what had happened, he knew something must have done, but his eyes were closing and sleep sounded like such a good idea. Stephen would have said if whatever if was couldn’t wait.

*

Sitting at the bar, Garibaldi stared at the bottle in front of him. Slowly, he reached out.

'Hello, old friend,' he murmured.

*

Susan bought breakfast enough for ten and took it over to John’s quarters, either by habit or ritual, she wasn’t sure. 

Stephen was already there, making coffee. 

‘How’s he doing?’ She asked, unpacking a selection of cereals and fruit. 

‘He woke in the night. I gave him a shot for a headache but he seemed lucid. He knew where he was but not what had happened.’

She accepted a cup from him and sat down. ‘What was that woman thinking, asking Bester on to the station?’

‘More importantly, Commander, why didn’t you know he was here?’

‘I’ve been asking myself that, making a few enquiries. Seems like he knew he wouldn’t be welcome, so he got in aboard a Centauri vessel carrying diplomatic papers and an attache. The ship had the right credentials so no one looked too closely when it docked.’

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘That I do know. Lochley wants his help with the Byron situation.’

‘That woman has far too much influence on this station.’

‘It could be worse. She could be captain.’

Stephen reached for an apple. ‘You do realise he’s never going to be ready to take back full command?’

Susan lowered her cup and gazed at him. Eventually she nodded. ‘It’s not an easy thing to accept.’

‘I know. But he’s buried a lot of what he’s been through. There are symptoms he should be exhibiting and isn’t. Flashbacks, nightmares. I think it’s because he’s somehow pushed it all down into his mind in the hope it’ll go away, but it won’t. One day, sooner or later, it’s all going to come rushing back and if we’re not careful, we will lose him in the flood.’

*

John’s eyes were open when Jack woke. He was being watched, faint yet playful smile on John’s lips.

‘Morning.’

‘Morning.’

There was something warm in the moment, and Jack reached across the narrow space between them and stroked the hairs just behind John’s ear. 

‘How’s the head?’

‘It feels like a zagradore sat on it.’

Jack chuckled softly. ‘That’s partly because Stephen had to put another hole in it.’ Moving his hand back and down, he brushed his fingertips over the inch by inch patch of shaved head, not visible under John’s hair. Stephen had been very careful. ‘Here.’

‘Does that have something to do with why you’re in my bed?’ Still playful.

Jack smiled, withdrew his hand and pushed himself up on to his elbow, breaking the spell. ‘You don’t remember what happened?’

‘No.’

‘What do you remember?’

‘I woke in the night. Stephen gave me a shot for the headache.’

‘Before that?’

‘C&C. A delegation from Minbari....’

‘That was two days ago. Stephen’s had you sedated as a precaution. Do you remember going to spring Michael after he was arrested?’

John frowned, and then, ‘Yes! He was making trouble for Liz.’

‘And then?’

A pause. ‘Nothing. Just waking up here.’

‘You went head to head with that psi cop, Bester.’

‘Bester? What the hell is he doing here?’

‘I don’t know. But you had some sort of face off, and you were apparently blocking him until Liz accidentally broke your concentration. Then he got in and attacked you. Stephen doesn’t think there’s any major damage, but he was worried about a bleed.’

‘That’s why I have a hole in my head?’

Jack put his thumb and index finger a millimetre apart. ‘Tiny one. Smaller than that.’

‘Why aren’t we in MedLab?’

‘We were. But there was an incident in Red sector. MedLab was about to get very loud and very busy. So here we are.’

John searched his face, maybe looking for something else. Maybe not. ‘Just like old times.’

‘Like very old times.’

Jack sat up and swung his legs off the bed. In a voice a little deeper than usual, he announced, ‘And now, Beloved, I need a shower and a change of clothes.’ He came around to John’s side of the bed, leaned down and kissed his forehead. When he straightened, John was smiling. ‘I’ll get Stephen to come give you something for the headache.’

‘Thank you. Again.’

‘No thanks needed, Swampy.’

*

Showered, dressed, Jack checked on John and followed the sound of quiet voices. 

‘Better?’ Susan asked, and he nodded with a smile.

‘I gave John another shot for the headache,’ Stephen confirmed. ‘He’ll probably sleep it off. He’s likely to be out of it until lunchtime at least.’

‘Okay.’ He poured himself a coffee and sat down with a bowl of cereal. It was a nice routine, getting together with these people over breakfast. Something he could get used to, which had come as a slight surprise. ‘I wanted to make contact with EarthGov this morning, and I was hoping to do that in C&C, rather than here.’

‘Of course, you’re welcome. Just come to John’s office when you’re ready.’

‘Thanks. I thought Michael would be here....’

‘I haven’t seen him.’ Susan looked around as if she’d only just realised he wasn’t present. ‘He moved into temporary quarters weeks ago. I’ll drop by on my way in to C&C, ask him to come over.’

Stephen pointed out, ‘He was pretty upset after Lyta scanned him. I thought he’d just gone to calm down.’

‘You don’t think...?'

Jack was lost. ‘He doesn’t think what?’ Michael Garibaldi didn’t seem like the type to off himself, not with John so obviously wanting to mend the broken bridges between them. 

‘He’s a recovering alcoholic. He’a always had a problem with drink. Sinclair, the man who was captain here before John, he saved Michael’s life, turned it around, gave him a purpose. And when John came aboard, he stopped Michael from sliding back.’

‘But you think after everything that’s happened with Bester, he might revert to old habits?’ He thought briefly about waking that morning, seeing John’s face and just for a second being back in the distant past, twenty years ago on Ganymede.

‘I don’t know. It’s certainly possible. Then again... he feels guilty enough already about turning his back on us, on John. It all depends on which guilt wins out.’

*

The thing people tended to forget was that the walls that separated, say, the living room from the bedroom in most B5 quarters, tended to be made of lightweight materials. Unless you were whispering, voices - words - carried straight through them.

John overheard Stephen, Susan and Jack talking about Michael, and knew he had to be the one to go looking for him. The meds were keeping his headache at bay, so he waited for Susan to go on shift, for Stephen to head for MedLab and for Jack to go… wherever he was going. He said he had to make a call, which John didn’t let himself muse on for too long. He was still EarthForce after all, eventually he’d have to go back. But there was a horrible sense of panic that accompanied the idea of Jack not being there, so John pushed it to the back of his mind for the time being.

He used his command password to get the computer to tell him where Michael’s temporary accommodation was, and after a quick shower he made his way over. 

Michael opened his eyes and groaned. His head hurt and he was lying with his face mashed in the pillow. But it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse.

Glancing up, he looked at the blank wall and wondered abstractly what had happened to Daffy.

The door chime brought forth another groan. He got up and straightened his clothing. He’d at least had the foresight to kick his shoes off before dropping onto the bed last night. The door chimed and again and he swore at it as he stumbled into the living area and with one hand on the wall to steady himself, gave the instruction to let whoever it was in.

It was possibly the last person he expected to see. ‘John.’ 

‘Mike. Can I…’

‘Yeah. Course.’ He indicated the couch and watched as John sat warily, glancing back at the door when he swung closed.

‘You want me to-‘

He shook his head. ‘No. I’m fine. Are you okay?’

Michael dropped into the armchair opposite and ran his hand over the stubble on his shaved head. He looked at John, head tilted a little. ‘Not really.’

‘Anything I can do?’

He bit back the urge to laugh. ‘You know, I thought it would be enough. Helping them rescue you, getting you back to where you needed to be, setting a few things right. But then I saw Bester, and I couldn’t kill the bastard, I realised it was never going to enough. Nothing will ever be enough until that fucking cowardly cunt is dead. I thought I was back in control but I’m not. He still has a hold on me, still has power.’

‘No, he doesn’t. If he did, you wouldn’t feel like this. And believe me, I know the feeling. I want to put my hands around his throat and watch the life drain away. But he’s not worth losing yourself over. He’s taken you from me once, I won’t let him do it again if I can help it.’

Michael sat forward. ‘What use am I to you if I can’t protect you from the one man you need protecting from?’

‘I don’t need you to protect me from Bester.’

‘I was talking about me.’

John shook his head with a snort of laughter. ‘I definitely don’t need protecting from you. You got lucky, in that bar. It was a dick move and I fell for it. I wouldn’t fall for it a second time.’ Michael opened his mouth and closed it again, so surprised he didn’t know what to say. ‘Everyone on this station is trying to protect me from something. There are more starfuries on guard duty. There are extra security patrols along the corridor outside my quarters. There’s a destroyer sitting on the other side of the jump gate, just waiting for the order.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I’m captain of this place. I know most things. I may be… fragile,’ he rolled his eyes, ‘I may not be physically at my best, but I’m still me.’ Michael laughed. He couldn’t help it. ‘They think you were drinking last night.’

He glanced up. ‘I thought about it.’

‘What about the bruises?’

Michael gingerly touched the lump on his forehead. ‘This? I went to a bar in DownBelow. I had one sip of beer and some jerk knocked the bottle out of my hand. It was an accident, but we got into a brawl and by the time the barman pulled us apart I didn’t want it anymore. I came back here and crashed out. I think I needed the sleep more than anything. I’d only just woken up when you arrived.’

‘I know.’

‘Course you do. You know, that arrogance is your worst trait.’

‘Gee, thanks. Is that what Bester used? Notched that irritation right up so everything I said and did annoyed the crap out of you?’ Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t think one was needed. He could hear the emotion in John’s voice but couldn’t see it in his expression which remained almost playful. It was… odd. Off. Like something wasn’t right.

‘How do you feel about me, John? Do you… hate me? Blame me? Do you want to choke the life out of me, just now and again?’

He actually looked surprised. ‘No.’

‘Do you think maybe that’s how you should feel? Do you think it wouldn’t be more natural to hate me, just a little bit?’

‘Why should I hate you for what someone else did?’

‘Because when you close your eyes, when you go back to that night in the bar, it’s me who drugged you. When you remember being beaten, being tortured, it must have been me you held responsible for putting you there.’

‘I don’t….’ He shook his head, but it was obvious what Michael was saying was making John uncomfortable. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘You know that here,’ Michael tapped the side of his own head. ‘But not here.’ He reached out, bridged the gap between them and tapped a fingertip to the other man’s chest. John immediately flinched back into the couch. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry.’ Something was very wrong. He sat back himself, hands out where John could see them. He was watching Michael, the arrogance and hard-won self assurance gone. He hated himself even more for doing that but he was worried now. ‘Do you remember us rescuing you?’ That seemed like the safest place to start.

‘Vaguely. It’s all… blurry.’ 

‘And… before we rescued you?’

‘Of course.’ He could tell something was missing in John’s response, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.

Michael wanted to push, to see where the cracks were, but he didn’t want to do it here, when it was just the two of them. If he pushed too hard, he went too far, if he tore into some mental safety blanket John was using just to stay sane, he might do untold damage.

He let the subject drop. ‘Look, I missed breakfast. Can I buy you lunch?’

*

Stephen looked up, surprised to see Michael standing in front of his desk.

‘I wasn’t drinking. I didn’t get drunk. I thought about it. I got into a bar fight, it was over in minutes, I went back to my quarters and crashed out.’

The doctor was surprised by the unrequested, honest confession. ‘Okay.’

‘Now we’ve got that out of the way, I need to talk to you about John.’

*

This had seemed like a good idea when he’d suggested it, but now they were here, Stephen was no longer sure. John was clearly nervous, sitting on his bed with one leg tucked under him, his other foot tapping restlessly on the floor. Seated behind him, Jack was waiting patiently to deal with the fallout. Not for the first time, Stephen wondered what the starship captain was doing with his emotions, when he wasn’t punching holes in MedLab walls. He was far from cold. All he’d seen with John was calm understanding, so he had to have been taking the rest of it out on something.

Maybe he meditated.

Lyta sat on the edge of the bed facing John, and almost in the same moment, Stephen watched Jack put a hand on his shoulder. There was something in that touch that struck him as incredibly intimate, yet he didn’t know why. 

‘I’ll try my best not to hurt you,’ Lyta promised. ‘And I won’t go anywhere you don’t want me to. If there’s something you don’t want me to see, just imagine a door and close it. If you want me to stop, just think ‘stop’.’ John nodded. ‘Are you sure about this?’

‘No. But do it anyway.’

She felt him tense up at her first touch, felt him mentally lean into the weight of his friend's hand on his shoulder. She did a surface scan, partly to make sure it was safe to proceed, partly to let him get used to her being in his head. She found the suggestion of safety she’d planted there after the rescue and let it lead her to his memories of Mars.

She touched something dark and he immediately flinched. She felt something else, something suddenly surrounding her, not threatening exactly, but protective. Moving carefully, she pushed against a fragile block, not wanting to destroy it, just wanting to see what was on the other side.

His torture, every moment of it, laid bare. Fists and boots, pain sticks and tight metal restraints; something too big in his throat, blocking his airway; something else, hard and unrelenting, pushing inside him. Blinding bright light and ear piecing noise; poisons and needles. Flaring pain, razor-sharp agony, cold and heat, fear building to terror, tears and rage, humiliation and despair. 

Stephen saw the tears in her eyes first, seconds before the medical bracelet on John’s wrist starting sending alarms to his link: elevated heart rate, elevated blood pressure, a surge of adrenaline. John’s shoulders jerked backwards, his breathing becoming quick and harsh. Jack rose up onto his knees behind him and put both hands on his arms, glancing up at Stephen, eyes questioning, warning.

There was nothing Stephen could do until Lyta pulled out. She sat back as Jack wrapped his arms around John from behind and held him gently, murmuring reassurances.

Lyta took a couple of deep breaths and as soon as she was able, she stood, beckoning Stephen to follow, leaving the room. 

With the doors closed behind them, she turned to look at him. ‘I don’t know how but he’d blocked it all. I don’t even think he was aware he’d done it.’

‘And now?’

‘Now… he knows. I’ve let him see it's there, but it'll come to him slowly, when his mind's ready to accept it. Otherwise, it would have been too much, overload, like a psychic shock. Those symptoms you were worried about, he’ll experience them now: nightmares, terrors, flashbacks. There will be more triggers.’

‘I hope we’ve done the right thing.’

‘We have. His block wouldn’t have held indefinitely, and when it eventually gave way it would have been overwhelming. I’m not sure he would have come back from that.’

‘Thank you.’ 

She nodded. ‘Take good care of him.’

When he went back into the bedroom, John was still sitting with Jack’s arm around him, head on his shoulder. They made for a strange sight and Stephen still couldn’t work out whether the dynamic between them was changing, or whether it had always been like this and they were only just letting others see it.

He checked the dilation of John’s pupils, his pulse and temperature. The monitor readings had dropped back to expected levels but his blood pressure remained high. It had been that way since Mars. ‘How are you feeling?’ 

‘Like I’ve been hit by a truck.’

‘Do you feel different?’

‘I feel… like there’s another, bigger truck on its way, and it’s going to hit me too. Harder.’

‘I think you might be right. I really hope we’ve done the right thing.’

‘I can’t pretend it didn’t happen, not indefinitely. I have to face it, my memories of it, try to sort out the real ones from the fake ones they’ve planted. Intellectually, I know what they did. I’ve read the manual, we all have. But they did it to me, and I need to deal with that.’

‘That’s an unbelievably healthy and well-adjusted attitude to have.’

‘I can’t promise I’ll always feel this way.’

‘You won’t face it alone. Remember that we’re here, all us, whoever you feel you want to talk to, you just to have say the word.’

*

Susan signed off on the last of the reports and sat back in the captain’s chair. She couldn’t shake what Stephen had said about Sheridan never being ready to take back his position, his office, his station. She knew he was right but still, she couldn’t quite bring herself to admit it.

She thought about when John had first come aboard, filling Sinclair’s shoes. A war hero in place of a diplomat. Michael had despised him on sight, despite Susan reassuring him John was one of the good guys. 

But Sheridan drew people like moths to a flame. 

Whatever it was about B5’s chef of security and her captains, Michael had started something with John that, while different to his exclusive relationship with Jeff, was still a love affair. Bester had taken that and twisted it, manipulated it, until love turned to hate and cost John his career at the very least. 

How easy it would be to go down to Bester’s call, have one of the guards open the door and just pull the trigger on a PPG before he could sense that personal danger he was always going on about.

No one would deny that he deserved it.

But it was murder, premeditated and cold-bloodied.

Six years ago she’d thrown a telepath out of a third storey window on Io, missing John Sheridan’s head by four and half feet.

Three years ago she’d activated the station’s defence grid and trained it on Bester’s Starfury. Sheridan had stopped her from blowing him to hell.

She wondered, if they could go back to that moment, knowing what they knew, would he let her fire? Would he hold back and allow her to give the order? Or would he give it himself? She shook herself.

There was no way back. What had happened had happened and they had to find a way through. 

*

From the observation dome, Commander Lochley watched the stars beyond the station in much the same way John and Michael had done some days before. Slowly she became aware of someone behind her, waiting and she imagined it might be the psi-cop Bester, come to ask her out to dinner. 

She turned, perfect smile on her face, and she’d been so sure that she was actually taken aback to see the ambassador to Narn, G’Kar, standing a couple of paces behind her.

'Command Lochley.' He introduced himself, arm crossed across his chest in formal respect, fist clenched.

‘Ambassador G’Kar,’ she smiled. It wasn’t Bester, but contact with the station ambassadors was a positive step forward. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ 

'Not all good, I expect.’ But his smile was genuine. 

She smiled back, politely. 'Did you want to see me, specifically, Ambassador?'

G’Kar ducked his head slightly. ‘I heard about the… incident with the psi-cop Bester and Captain Sheridan.’

‘I was there, Ambassador, and even I’m not sure what happened.'

G’Kar crossed his hands in front of him. 'They fought, from what I hear.'

Lochley shook her head. 'No. That’s impossible. Bester’s a P12. John’s... he’s the least telepathic person I know!'

'Absolutely, Commander. But Sheridan was Ambassador Kosh’s protege. They say that John died at Kosh’s word and lived at his will. The essence of the Vorlon lived in the captain for many months. Those who are touched by Vorlons remain changed. That’s what allowed him to hold Bester off, until you disturbed the balance and allowed Bester into Sheridan’s mind. You should step carefully where the that psi-cop is concerned.' His voice lowered. 'He exists only on borrowed time. When he falls, those who ally themselves with him will fall too.’

With those words of warning, he bowed his head, turned and walked away. 

Lochley stared after him, not the faintest of clues of what any of that had meant. 

*

After Lyta’s scan, Stephen didn’t want John left on his own, so John had suggested dinner at the FreshAir restaurant at nine. As he got changed, he felt a little off balance, a little more fragile, but he was okay. 

He ate a little, enjoying the food and the company. Marcus, Stephen, Michael, Jack and Delenn chatted like old friends, and Susan made it in time for mains. He wasn’t hugely hungry, but then he hadn’t been since Stephen had given him the all-clear to start on solids again. At the start his options had been simple and limited, but after a week or so he was cleared to eat, quote, ‘anything not cooked by Mr Garibaldi’. It actually said that on the food plan Stephen had handed him.

Jack and Delenn had dessert while the others just ordered coffee. 

It was the smell. As the waiter put the cups down on the table and the once loved aroma reached him, he was suddenly somewhere else: sitting at a small table with Stephen in his quarters, a mug of coffee in front of him and a set of documents he couldn’t read. He blinked, tried to lift his arms and couldn’t, tried to move his legs and found them trapped. He felt the sicking feeling of metal shackles biting into his wrists and ankles, even though he couldn’t see them or the blood he could feel on his skin. He started to struggle.

‘Johnny. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.’ Just as suddenly he was back on Babylon 5, in the restaurant. Jack was crouched at his side, hands on his forearms, not angry or upset, just waiting for him to return from wherever he’d gone. ‘Hey. That’s it. Welcome back.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No apologies. Just tell me where you are now.’

‘B5. FreshAir restaurant.’

Jack’s hand slid down to squeeze his fingers, relieved smile replacing the concern on his face. He glanced around but none of the other guests seemed to have noticed the commotion at their table, or if they had, they were being polite enough to pretend it wasn’t happening. 

‘Strike one,’ he heard Stephen murmur, and didn’t get it then. Jack did. He nodded his understanding and went to sit back down. The coffees, John noticed, had been removed. And then he got it. Fucking bastards. Goddamn it! He loved coffee.

*

As far as he knew, they had assigned Jack quarters of his own, and John had assumed that’s where he’d been sleeping. But apparently he was actually sleeping on John’s sofa.

It was a comfy sofa, there was no denying it. But still….

‘I just wanted a glass of water,’ John explained. He hadn’t meant to wake a man he didn’t know was in his living room. 

Jack sat up. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m okay. Why are you on my sofa?’

‘After what happened tonight… I didn’t want to leave you on your own.’

‘There’s a perfectly good bed.’ Jack chose to ignore that. But John didn’t want to let it go. ‘You’re safe with me, you have my word. Even if I wanted to, I haven’t got it up since Mars.’

‘Stephen would call that psycho-‘

‘Psychosomatic. I know. I don’t care right now. Never thought I’d say this, but sex is the last thing on my mind.’

Jack gazed at him for a time, and John thought he might accept the offer of a mattress, but in the end he just said, ‘Go back to bed. Get some sleep or Stephen will neuter me.’

John laughed and nodded. ‘The offer stands, if you change your mind. Goodnight, Jack.’

‘Night, Johnny.’

He lay in bed, lights low. He was scared to spend too long in his own head because he knew Lyta had cleared a path for his memories of Mars to return. He could feel them, like little electric shocks, scraping along his nerves, making him feel sick. He’d learnt a few basic meditation techniques in the past, knew how to separate the physical reaction from the mental one. But it didn’t lessen the horrors he knew were biding their time like land mines. Eventually he’d remember everything. 

Instead he chose to remember Ganymede, twenty years ago, two weeks shore leave from the Prometheus at the same time as the Cortez was in for repairs following a run in with the Minbari. It was a time he’d previously imagined was lost to the past, but reconnecting with Jack over the last couple of months had brought the memories to the fore. Eventually, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

An hour later, John woke screaming.

He reached out blindly, struggling to sit up, fighting to escape the clutches of the nightmare even as the images turned to dust in his mind. The ghost of an electric pulse was still racing along his nerves, his body in spasm. His eyes stung with tears.

Jack was right there, holding on to his hand, on to his shoulder, helping him sit up.

‘Easy, Johnny. It’s okay. Deep breaths.’

It was a few seconds before he realised he was getting oxygen into his lungs, a minute or so before he was breathing normally.

‘There are easier ways to get me into bed.’ But the humour was hiding real concern in his voice. 

John dropped his head forward, still clutching at Jack’s arm. ‘Fuck.’

Jack's link chimed once and he tapped on it as he shifted closer, drawing John into his arms.

‘Stephen?’

‘MedLab’s alerted me-‘

‘It’s just a nightmare. He’s okay.’

‘This is my fault.’

‘It had to happen sooner or later.’

‘Do you need anything?’

He felt John shaking his head against his shoulder. ‘No. We’re okay. We’ll see you in the morning.’

It was a few more minutes before John composed and extracted himself. ‘Sorry.’

‘I thought we’d agreed, no apologies.’ There was sweat on John’s forehead and his clothes were damp. ‘Bad one, huh?’

‘First of many I suspect.’ He dropped his feet to the floor and made sure he was steady enough to stand before getting out of bed.

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah. Go back to sleep. I’ll try to keep the screaming to a minimum.’ It was supposed to be a joke but judging by the expression on Jack’s face, it didn’t go over that way.

‘Do you want me to stay?’

John considered it, but he shook his head. Honestly, he thought he was probably already dependent enough on his old friend without adding another level to it. ‘I’ll be okay.’

He took a piss and washed his face, staring at himself in the mirror for a couple of seconds. He looked better than he had done after returning from Mars, that was a given, but he could stand to gain a few pounds, put some colour back in his cheeks. He still felt slightly nauseous and wondered what the half-life of psychotropics was in human tissue. 

Back in the bedroom he changed his sweats and climbed back under the covers, closing his eyes and hoping he could sleep without dreaming.

*

Jack was woken the second time by the link on his hand pinging insistently. For a moment he was back on the Cortez, before the door swung open and Stephen stepped into the darkness.

‘Jack?’

‘Stephen?’ For the life of him, he couldn’t work out what the doctor was doing there, then he realised…. ‘Shit.’ In a second, he was up and opening the doors to the bedroom. At first glance, John looked as if he was still asleep. But his fingers were clawed into the sheet, there was a sheen of sweat on his skin, obvious where his sweater had ridden up, the comforter in a pile on the floor at the bottom of the bed.

Perching on the edge of the bed, sliding his hand under John’s right one, Jack squeezed carefully. 

‘Come on, Johnny, wake up.’ Like the last time, he put his hand on John’s shoulder and this time shook him gently. ‘John!’

He was ready when John scrabbled to sit up, got his arms around him and held him. He could feel him shaking, feel tears on the front of his shirt, John’s sweat through his clothing. It took longer for him to calm down this time. Stephen brought a glass of water in from the kitchen and Jack took it when he could, helped John take a couple of sips. 

‘I’m so sorry I didn’t realise….’

‘That’s what the monitor’s for,’ Stephen reassured him. ‘You are allowed to sleep.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m used to it.’ 

The little exchange gave John a second or two to gather himself. He sat back, glass gripped between still shaking hands, looking up at Jack then Stephen. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. This isn’t your fault.’

Steadying the glass in his lap, Jack watched him wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘I need a shower.’

Shifting so that he could get up, Jack went to refill the glass. The shower was running by the time he got back.

‘Is there anything you can do?’ he said to Stephen. ‘He’s going to shatter if he can’t sleep.’

‘I could drug him, but the last thing he needs is more chemicals in his system. He needs to talk to someone.’

The shower stopped and Stephen found a fresh pair of sweats, passing them through the door when John peered out. Jack had moved to the chair in the corner by the time John came back out to sit on the bed. ‘Is this the effect of the psychotropics or of Lyta digging about up there?’ 

With a sigh, Stephen asked him, ‘You are familiar with the term PTSD?’ 

John’s reaction was predictable. ‘Come on, Doc….’

‘The nightmares are a symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The psychotropics will be giving them that little extra kick.’

‘Lucky me.’

‘What you’re experiencing - everything you’re experiencing - is normal given what you’ve been through. I’d like you to start seeing a psychiatrist. A friend of mine, Deloris Osaka, specialises in PTSD. She’ll step you through reliving some of it, when you’re ready.’

‘Reliving it?’

‘It’ll allow you to sort out what actually happened from what the drugs and parts of your brain are telling you happened. Talking about it should help with the nightmares.’

John looked too tired to argue. Jack was going to suggest they have the conversation in the morning, but John surprised him. ‘Okay. I’ll give it a try.’

‘Thank you.’

Once Stephen had left, John shuffled down under the comforter that Jack had arranged back in its rightful place. ‘Please go and get some sleep in your quarters.’

‘No. I’ve told you, I’m not leaving you.’

‘There’s no point in neither of us sleeping.’

‘Neither of us will if you keep talking to me.’

‘Jack….’

‘Lights, minimum setting. Get some rest, John. I’ll be here.’

Once John’s breathing had evened out, Jack left the room, sliding the doors closed behind him and standing for a time, waiting, listening. Only when he felt reassured John had managed to find some peace if not sleep, he headed back to the couch, got halfway when he heard the sound he’d been listening for... the hitch of breath, a quiet sob. He turned around and went back to the bedroom, slipping in through the doors, murmuring John’s name. 

He was curled onto his side, but when Jack sat back down on the edge of the bed, John pushed himself into a sitting position. He wasn’t sure at first how much physical contact John wanted or could deal with. He put one hand on his back, feeling the heat of him through the thick material of his sweater, one hand on his knee as he pulled them up against his chest, but as he touched, John sort of fell against him, and he wrapped both arms around him, loosely at first then tighter because it was what John seemed to need.

Resting his cheek on the damp hair, he rocked him gently, making soothing noises that he hoped would help. He could feel tears soaking through his top, tremors driving through the sobbing man in his arms, and all he could do was hold him. His chest ached, emotion manifesting as physical pain, and not for the first time he had an almost overwhelming urge to tear everything down, to get John away from here, to keep anything like this from ever happening to him again. 

He had no idea how long they sat like that, just that gradually John calmed, the shivers subsiding. When Jack loosened his arms, John’s hands gripped his clothes as best they could and he promised he wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t going to leave him, promised him he wasn’t alone.

Eventually John sat up, staying close, hands still clutching at Jack’s jumper. Jack combed his fingers through his hair with soothing strokes, wiped tears from his face with the tenderest of touches, wary of the bruising. He kept one arm around him, the other hand touching, giving him the physical contact he seemed to be craving now.

‘I wanted to die,’ John murmured after a while. ‘At the end... I didn’t think anyone was coming. I couldn't betray everyone, but I knew if they broke me, I'd destroy everything we’d worked... so hard for. I didn't want to let them down, let you down. But I wanted it to stop. I couldn’t... take anymore. I wanted them to kill me.’

Jack bit his lip and closed his eyes, tears leaking over his face. ‘You didn’t let anyone down. We’re so proud of you. You held on for us. You made it.’

‘It doesn’t feel... like I did.’

‘No. But it will. You have to give yourself time to heal, physically and mentally. It’s going to take longer than you want it to, but you’ll get there, we’ll get there.’

It was a while before John actually met his gaze. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been... caught up in this. In my... fucked up life.’

Jack shook his head. ‘I’m not sorry. I’m glad, relieved I was there, aboard the Aggy, there with you during the final battle, and here now. There is nowhere in the universe I would rather be. I’m here for you, and if I’m helping you, if you feel better, safer, happier with me here... well, John, this is obviously where I’m meant to be.’

He let out a shuddering breath. ‘Thank you.’

Not even sure the words existed that he needed at that moment, Jack leaned forward and kissed his forehead, damp hair against his nose. ‘Do you think you could try to sleep, if I stay?’

‘You don’t have to-‘

‘For once, stop talking.’ He was careful to make sure his words were affectionate, kissed him again to make his point. He shifted back, and John uncurled, lay down on his right side. Jack had planned to move to the chair, but John caught his hand. 

‘Just... stay here. Please.’

He knew how much it had cost him to ask. Jack stretched out on the left side of the bed, lying on his side, hand still held. When John shifted backwards towards him, he met him half way, so they were pressed together, shoulder to hip. John took his hand around to hold it against his chest and Jack let his arm settle over him.

‘Are you sure this is okay?’

The reply wasn’t so much a word as a grunt, but he took it as confirmation and closed his eyes. 

*

When no one answered the door to John’s quarters the following morning, Michael used an old override command and let himself in. His was worried. He didn’t know if anyone had stayed overnight but if something had happened…. He peered in between the crack of the sliding doors to John’s bedroom and worry was replaced by something else, something sour, just for a second before he quashed it.

Jack was lying on his side on the bed, pressed along John’s back, one arm wrapped possessively around him, hand flat against John’s chest. To be fair, he was fully clothed and he was lying above the comforter whereas John was under it. Also, possessive probably wasn’t right. Protective was closer. 

‘It was the only way either of us was going to get any sleep,’ John explained once he’d showered and dressed. ‘What was it? Three? Four nightmares?’

Jack put the kettle on. ‘Four.’ He’d already reached for the coffee pot and luckily stopped himself before he opened the jar. They were going to have to get used to starting the day on a mug of tea, at least until they could all get over to the Zocalo. 

‘You should talk to Stephen.’

‘We have, several times in the night. He was here in person at around two, two thirty. In the end we took John’s med bracelet off so the good doctor could get some sleep too.’

‘Do you think it was a mistake, letting Lyta loose up there?’ Michael watched as John leaned heavily back against the counter top; he looked utterly wiped out. This was partly his fault. He was the one who’d talked to Stephen about John maybe blocking memories from himself, although the idea of Lyta doing the scan had been discussed between them at length before they’d approached her.

‘Like we said, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I need to deal with it all.’

‘How?’

‘Stephen’s recommended a psychologist.’

Michael stared at him, stunned. ‘You’re going to talk a shrink? You?’

John looked amused by his scepticism. ‘Why is that so hard to believe?’

Jack looked up from gazing into the teapot. ‘Oh, come on, Johnny. You’re the last person in the universe we’d expect to agree to that.’

He insisted, ‘It’s the sensible thing to do.’

‘Exactly.’ 

Devoid of any other comeback, John raised the middle finger of his right hand and flipped him off. ‘What are you looking for in there?’

‘I’ve just realised, I don’t have the faintest idea how to make tea.’

*

The room was painted white, plants of various shapes, sizes and colours stood in pots around the walls. When he looked back on the sessions, John would have sworn there’d been a window looking out onto a garden when one couldn’t possibly have been. 

There were two chairs, large, L-shaped leather ones, tilted slightly back on shiny silver oval bases. Very modern, very clean. The couch was of the same design but flat, long enough for a grown man to lie on.

‘Dr Deloris Osaka.’ 

He shook hands with the psychologist. ‘Captain John Sheridan.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain.’

‘John, please. So… how does this work?’

She took a seat in the chair that faced the couch while he remained standing. 

‘Well. In the first session, you’ll pace up and down, I’ll ask some questions and you’ll tell me things, the kinds of things you’d tell a work colleague or a friendly barman. In the second session, you’ll sit more than you’ll stand, I’ll ask more questions and you’ll tell me slightly more intimate things, the sorts of things you’d tell a friend or maybe a lover. Then, in the third session, you’ll make yourself comfortable, and you’ll tell me things you wouldn’t tell another living soul. Not because you’re ashamed, but because you’d be concerned about your friends' reactions, about whether these are things they would ever want to hear.’

John stopped pacing. He sat down in the centre of the couch. He was tired. She sat forward and regarded him with open sympathy. ‘Or maybe we can just skip the first two sessions.’ He nodded once. ‘Why don’t you start wherever you want to start, and we’ll go from there?’

*

‘Captain? John?’

He started, just for a moment unsure where he was. But the warmth, the floral scents, the quiet; he was on a bench in the garden. 

‘Delenn. Sorry. I was… miles away.’

‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘It’s fine. Please, sit?’

With a slight incline of her head, she sat on the wooden bench beside him. ‘It’s beautiful here. I’ve always loved these gardens.’

‘I like the quiet. The rest of the station… there’s always something going on. I used to love that about the place. But now I’m starting to find I need peace more than the excitement.’

‘There are other places on Babylon 5 that are quiet. The Minbari have a small chapel in Green sector with its own grounds. You would be more than welcome to spend as much time there as you need. I will grant you access as soon as I return to my quarters.’

‘Thank you.’

She smiled at him. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, John, you do look tired.’

‘Yeah. I'm having trouble sleeping.’

‘It is understandable that you’re having difficulty finding rest in the dark.’ She paused. ‘Do you remember when we took the White Star to Ganymede to stop the shadow vessel your government was experimenting on?’ He did. ’You told me how, when you were young, you could never sleep before a test, and how your father made it rain on the roof of your home.’

He chuckled. He’d forgotten that. Not his father’s magical hosepipe storms, but telling Delenn about it on the journey to Ganymede. ‘You had the ship’s computer play the sound of rainfall in the room.’

‘Maybe doing the same when you try to sleep now would help. I’m sure Babylon 5’s computer would be just as easy to programme as the White Star’s.’

John wasn’t sure the simple sound of rain would chase away the terrors left in his head by Clarke’s sadistic interrogators, but it was worth a shot.

‘Thank you, Delenn.’

‘You are welcome. After everything you’ve done for the universe, John, the very least it owes you is time to heal.’

*

He talked to Michael, who talked to a couple of the ship’s engineers, and by the time he went to bed that night, a ‘rainfall’ command had been installed on the computer in his quarters. The expression on Jack’s face was priceless when he first heard it. 

‘I haven’t heard rain in… ten years. Maybe more.’

‘I know. Me neither.’ He closed his eyes and found he could breathe just a little easier.

‘Think it’ll work?’

John shrugged. ‘I have no idea. And I know you have quarters you can go to, so go.’

Jack shook his head. ‘Not a chance.’

‘I don’t want to keep you awake all night, again.’

‘I got some sleep this morning. Speaking of which, how did it go with the shrink?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘I’m going to sleep on your couch, and you’re going to sleep in the rain, and in the morning I’ll go get breakfast in the Zocalo because tea is not a drink.’

John sighed. ‘Please, Jack. I’m feeling bad enough as it is.’

‘About what?’

‘You. Me. Using our friendship like this, relying on you so much. I know eventually you’ll have a job to go back to, you might already have one and haven’t found the right time to mention it yet. Sooner or later you won’t be here and I need to stand on my own. I have Stephen, Susan, Michael, Delenn, G’Kar… friends who will always be there for me.’

‘I will always be here for you. Even if I do go back out there, I’ll just be a call away.’

‘If?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m getting old, John. I figure at some stage I need to slow down. I don’t know if you’re just fishing, or if you know I’ve been offered command of the Agamemnon, but I’ve told them I need time to think about it. I have other options.’

John sat down on the bed, not wanting to hope. ‘You’d be bored stupid!’

‘If you’d asked me a year ago if I wanted to give up space for a desk job, I’d have laughed you out of the room. But… that last battle was a doozy. After watching a weapons platform blow up in my face, a change of pace feels like it might not be such a bad idea.’

‘Promise this isn’t about me.’

He gazed at John with a wry smile. ‘I can’t, not completely. Reconnecting with you, even under these… horrific circumstances, has been really good. I know we have our own lives to lead, but I’d like to see you a little more often, catch up, have dinner....’ He trailed off.

With a small laugh, John tutted. ‘Now who’s doing it? This is why we’re better off with literally the whole of space between us.’

Jack moved to sit on the bed next to him. ‘Really?’

He shook his head. ‘No, not really. You’re my oldest friend. And I’m not too proud to admit I do feel better with you around.’ 

‘Then I’ll be around.’ He grinned. 

‘That doesn’t mean you can’t get a good night’s sleep in your quarters. They’re what… one level down?’

‘Forget it. I’m staying overnight until I know you can sleep through. Stephen’s put you in my charge. If anything happens to you, I do believe he would rip my balls off. Believe me, your sofa is a small price to pay to keep my privates attached.’ He stood. ‘Besides, there’s a bottle of scotch in your sideboard I’m fairly sure you’ve forgotten about and absolutely won’t miss.’

*

Dr Osaka regarded Captain Sheridan with professional curiosity. He looked like he might have gotten a little more sleep than the previous night, but not by much.

‘Tell me about the sandwich.’ John frowned. ‘Stephen told me it was a mental trigger that had a physical reaction.’

‘Oh. Yeah. Corned beef and mustard. The first go around. The interrogator sat and watched me eat it. Then he started talking about how to build up an immunity to toxins, and he released me from the chair. I knew something was wrong. Before he left the room, he said… he’d be back after they’d cleaned up. I remember the fear, not knowing what was going to happen. It wasn’t long before I was so sick, I didn’t stop retching until I was throwing up blood. Hours later, when he came back, he gave me some water, just a couple of sips.’ He hesitated, sat forward and she noticed him rub his bandaged fingers before pulling his sleeves down over his hands. It was something she’d noticed yesterday. ‘He was being nice to me, and in that one moment, I would have done anything for him.’

‘They were moving you to a place where you’d eventually want to please them just so they didn’t hurt you.’

He nodded. ‘I know. ’

‘But knowing now, and knowing then are two different things?’

‘No.’ She wasn’t sure he was going to say any more, but he murmured, ‘I knew. And I was so, so scared that eventually I’d do exactly what they wanted just to make it stop.’

*

Stephen looked up, surprised when a large cup of coffee landed on his desk. He looked up from the report and wrapped his hands around the cup with only the briefest of hesitations. Michael and Jack were both hugging similar cups.

‘How much is this free drink going to cost me?’

Jack spoke first. ‘John needs sleep.’

‘We’re working on it.’

‘The shrink?’

‘It’s important-‘

‘It’s long term,’ Michael acknowledged. ‘You know it and we know it. Working through everything he’s experienced is going to take time and patience and we have an unlimited amount of both. That’s not in question. But he needs sleep. It’s tough enough on him, mentally and physically, but he’s going to fall apart if he can’t get some rest.’

‘The rain helps a bit,’ Jack pointed out. ‘He falls asleep easier. But once he’s gone off, the horrors are there, waiting for him.’

Stephen didn’t need to be told. He saw John every morning, could see he wasn’t sleeping well. ‘I can give him enough sedative to put him down deep enough he won’t dream, but I can’t do that every night. It’ll give him twelve hours of unconsciousness but it’ll also add to the stress his liver and kidneys are already under.’

He could see neither of them liked the idea. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Get him too whacked out to dream.’

‘Whacked out?’

He glanced at Michael, and then at Jack. ‘Do I need to elaborate?’

The two men looked at one another and nodded. ‘Yes.’

Confused, he clarified, ‘Physical activity. Baseball, rock climbing, running.’ They both looked a little relieved. Stephen wasn’t sure what was going on with them. ’The things he used to enjoy doing before everything went to hell.’

‘Oh. Yeah. Gotcha. Good idea.’

He honestly didn’t want to know what they’d thought he meant.

*

They were a reasonable distance from MedLab when Michael stopped walking. Hands safely in his trouser pockets, because he absolutely sure he didn’t want to reach out and grab Maynard’s arm, he said, ‘Okay. Spill.’

Jack seemed to be expecting it. He sauntered to a stop, turned and looked as unrepentant and innocent as a dancer with more cash tucked into her costume than Michael made in a year.

‘What?’

‘You and John. Last time you were here it was just a spark. Now it’s…’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what it is.’

Jack took a couple of steps back towards him, making the conversation a little more private. ‘John’s my friend.’

‘Not just. Or you wouldn’t still be here.’

‘Yes, I would be. But the story you're after is his to tell, not mine. We’ve both led very long, very separate lives. I’m sure there are other stories he has which are way more interesting and mean far more to him.’

Michael studied the captain for a minute. ‘I seriously and honestly doubt that.’

*

‘Captain Maynard?’ 

Jack stopped in his tracks. He recognised Ambassador Delenn from his last visit and from her quick actions back on Earth that had finally got John the medical help he’d so badly needed. 

‘Ambassador.’

‘May I have a word with you, please?’

‘You may have as many as you want.’

She smiled. ‘Your humour is very like John’s. That gives me confidence that I’m speaking to the right man. I have… a proposal I’d like to put to you.’

*

Michael took John for dinner that evening, not making a big thing out of it. There was a little place at the edge of the Zocalo that served simple vegetarian food and he checked before hand that they had a selection John could choose from that wouldn’t contravene Stephen’s food plan. This time around, it was in place for a very good reason and although it was possible to find a trigger food they didn’t yet know about, the rest of it was aimed at keeping John’s digestive system free from anything it might have difficulty processing.

After dinner, they walked the station for a while, ending up in the observation dome where they sat and talked about nothings; remembering the more fun, interesting times, little incidents that had caused more laughter than pain. Eventually Michael walked John back to his quarters, and seeing that Jack wasn’t there, he stayed for a while, intending to ask John if he needed him to stay.

John, though, had seen right through him. ‘Mike, what is it that you want to ask me? You’ve been on the brink of doing so all night. Just…ask. If it’s something I don’t want to talk about, I’ll say so.’

Michael shook his head. ‘It’s not…. It’s more….’

He practically watched the realisation dawn on John’s face. ‘You want to know about me and Jack.’

He sighed, but nodded. ‘I asked him and he said to ask you.’

‘Did he say it didn’t mean anything?’

‘No. He said… you probably have better stories to tell.’

John smiled. ‘Jack… was one testosterone and alcohol fuelled night a very, very long time ago.’

Michael perched on the edge of the sofa, leaving space between them. ‘Hey, I know what squadies are like. I once watched thirty of them get naked in a bar on Mars and start a daisy chain that made my eyes water.’ It got a laugh. ‘But I thought Jack was your commanding officer.’

‘This was after I’d been posted to the Prometheus. I was on shore leave on Ganymede, the Cortez was docked for repairs. It was my first night, his last. We met for dinner and ended up in this bar where the beer was cold and the dancers were gorgeous.’

‘Dancers?’

‘Okay, strippers. Men and women. You could practically taste the arousal in the air. I don’t think I was even aware of anything remotely sexual between us until that night. We were drunk, wound up, just looking for some sort of release. The original idea, I think, was to pick up a couple of girls, guys, didn’t really matter to me. We didn’t talk about it. But as the night went on, I realised I wanted him. We got a room, and the second the door was closed, he was on his knees with my dick in his mouth. I don’t think I’d ever been that turned on before. I remember coming embarrassingly fast. Then I got on my knees and he fucked me. It was my first time, and it was so good.’ If Michael had thought he’d feel jealousy at hearing the story, he was wrong. A ware of desire had swept over him at John’s simple, matter-of-fact description that stole his breath for a moment. ‘In the morning we shared a shower, a sloppy kiss, and went our separate ways, as the song goes. It was about a year later when our paths crossed again, and by then it was consigned to history. Not that either of us ever forgot, or pretended it hadn’t happened. It was just… a nice memory.’

Michael shifted his leg to relieve the pressure on his erection, hoping against the odds that John wouldn’t notice. Of course he did. 

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’ There was mischief in his expression that Michael hadn’t seen since he left for Z’Ha’Dum, a hint of the playful streak he’d fallen for in the first place. 

‘You so did.’ But he said it with a smile. 

John pulled one leg up to the sofa cushion and leaned forward slightly. ‘I wasn’t keeping it from you. Maybe I should have told you before now, but…’

Michael carefully put a hand on John’s foot. ‘I know you had relationships, lovers, one night stands, long before and even after you met me. I know I certainly did. It’s not like we were ever exclusive. You don’t owe me anything and I don’t need anything more from you than you’re already giving. I was… curious. Anyone can see there’s more between you two than friendship. I meant what I said before, he’s a good guy. He loves you. If that spark’s back, it’s none of my business, and even if it was, I would never deny you something like that. You deserve to be happy, possibly more than anyone else in the universe…’ He stopped talking. There was a look in John’s eyes that made him forget about words for a second or two.

He knew what John was going to do before he did it, and met him half way, tilting his head slightly, parting his lips. The kiss was every bit as sweet as those he remembered. John’s tongue darted out to touch the tip of his own and he hummed softly. It was over too soon, but he knew well enough that this wasn’t the start of anything, not now at any rate.

‘Right now,’ John murmured, ‘I don’t know what I want, from Jack, from you, from life. Getting through each day and each night feels like a win.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you want, whenever you want it, I’m not leaving you unless you tell me to.’

‘Thank you.’

He stroked John’s foot. ‘You should try to get some sleep.’

‘Stay?’

‘Of course.’ 

John stood. ‘I mean, stay.' He nodded towards the bedroom. 'Please. I hate to admit it, but I sleep better when someone’s with me. That’s what Jack was doing last night. Nothing sexual, I can’t even… and I know, I kissed you.’

‘I get it. You’re craving the intimacy, not the sex.’

John pulled at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. ‘I think…. Well, I know…’ 

Michael waited, but when John didn’t continue he reassured, ‘You don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready. You don’t have to talk about it with me. I will listen if you want me to. Don’t ever worry about… scaring me, upsetting me. Whatever it is that’s holding you back. I have a shrewd idea of everything they did to you while you were a prisoner. You’re not a victim, John, you’re a survivor. It was torture, nothing more, nothing less. Never think there's anything any of us don't want to hear, because if you lived through it, we can survive hearing about it.’

‘Bits of it… still feel like raw, open wounds.’

‘I imagine it’s going to feel that way for a while.’

‘Yeah, I imagine it is.’ 

Michael followed him into the bedroom, leaving the doors open, watching as John climbed under the comforter, lying on his back, patting the side of the bed Jack had been in the night before. 

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘Why? Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?’

Michael kicked off his shoes, lay down on his side, and closing his eyes he waited for John’s breathing to shift into sleep before he let himself drift off.

*

Around midnight, Jack peered in through the crack in the bedroom doors, frowned when he saw Michael with John, but after a moment’s hesitation, headed for his own quarters for a night of hopefully uninterrupted rest.

*

‘How about you tell me why your command crew is only drinking coffee when you’re not around. I see them in the Zocalo in the mornings, and they always look so furtive….’

Dr Osaka watched John Sheridan run his fingers through his hair, heard him sigh with a shake of his head. ‘Because they’re too nice for their own good.’

She smiled. ‘They care about you. In some cases, very deeply.’ And he nodded, not a gesture of arrogance but of gratitude. 

‘According to Stephen, the interrogators used a mind probe of some kind to convince me I was elsewhere, safe, free. One of the scenarios was sitting drinking coffee with Stephen on the station. We were at the FreshAir restaurant the other evening, and the smell triggered the memory. Now they’re all avoiding drinking it in front of me, despite the fact some days it’s the only thing that keeps them functioning. Susan’s the worst. She reached a point last year when she was living on the stuff. If she’s not careful, she’s going to suffer withdrawal.’

‘Does the memory bother you?’

‘After my rescue, while we were still on Mars, I couldn’t work out what was real and what wasn’t.’

‘You didn’t know if you’d actually been rescued?’

‘No. I got hold of Stephen’s PPG and threatened to shoot Michael. Then I tried to shoot myself.’

‘Did you know that was real?’

He seemed to think about that. ‘I don’t know. I was confused, everything in my head was fuzzy. But I realised that when they ran their little scenarios, I wasn’t in any pain. That’s how I worked out what was fake. If I hurt, if I was… uncomfortable, it was real.’

‘Uncomfortable seems like a very gentle word for what you must have been going through.’

But there were some aspects of his interrogation and torture that John definitely didn’t want to talk about. The things they’d done to humiliate him, to degrade him, those were still off limits. The poisonings, the beatings, the repetitive questioning, sleep deprivation, these were all subjects they’d covered during the sessions they’d had so far. She wanted him to talk about the other things, the things she knew he didn’t think she wanted to hear about, but it had to be in his own time. If she pushed too hard, he’d leave and not come back.

‘You look as if you slept better last night.’

‘Yeah, I did.’

‘Good. Do think this is helping, these sessions?’ He nodded, although she could see the reluctance in the set of his shoulders. ‘I know this is absolutely the last thing you’d have chosen to do, if you thought you had any choice. Therapy and the military don’t mix.’

‘Honestly, as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think I’d have lasted too long without this.’

She was actually stunned to hear it. ‘Thank you for acknowledging that. If you honestly believe it’s doing you some good, it’ll do exactly that.’

*

Bester woke slowly, coming out of a peaceful, dreamless sleep. He sat up and stretched. He felt good. The hard bed in the cell was excellent therapy for his back, and the food wasn’t all that bad. They surely couldn’t hold him much longer, and he wasn’t in a rush.

Looking across the narrow room, he saw that someone had deposited breakfast on a nicely laid out tray and smiled to himself. To the command staff of this station he was the devil incarnate. But to those looking after him down here, he was just another prisoner.

He moved to sit in the chair and straightened the tray in front of him, reaching for a slice of cold toast. Just as he was about to start eating, the door hissed and opened. He looked up, and his eyes widened.

'You are most definitely the very last person I expected to see.'

Sheridan paused in the doorway, looking as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d made a mistake. 

'Don’t... don’t try to scan me.’

Bester in his turn held up one hand in a gesture of amnesty. 'I give you my word, for what that’s worth. After the last time, I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to. How did you block me?’

‘I don’t know.’

He was telling the truth, and this was something of a surprise, and a curious mystery. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

‘No. I’m going to stay right here if it’s all the same to you.’

Bester shrugged, indicating the tray. ‘Do you mind if I continue?’

‘Be my guest.’

He’d almost finished the toast when Sheridan spoke again. ‘You know, my whole life, my only fear was dying slowly and alone. During the Earth-Minbari war, I was stranded in my Starfury for eight hours. I didn’t know if anyone would come for me, or if I would die there. I was scared, not of death but of being on my own when it happened.’ 

'All our fears are vested in the past, Captain,' Bester acknowledged quietly, with feeling.

‘Not anymore.’

Bester pushed his chair back just a couple of inches, noticed how John looked ready to bolt. 'I know where you’re going with this. I’d like to ask you something.’

‘Go on.’

'Why didn’t you use Carolyn as one of the telepaths you put on board the EarthForce ships at the end of your war?'

'We picked those... who wouldn’t be missed.' Bester could sense the impossible choice they’d been faced with.

'And if you’d known then what you know now?'

Sheridan’s expression hardened. 'If I’d known what you’d done to Garibaldi?' Bester nodded. 'Probably. For him.’

'I appreciate your honesty, Captain. And what about you? What do you want for yourself?'

‘Peace of mind.’

‘When they did what they did to you, did they use telepaths? Or the more mundane mind probe? Can you still feel the ghosts of them walking around in your head? If you were a little stronger, you would be able to dismiss that.’

‘Fuck you.’

'Why did you come here?’ What is it that you want from me?’

'I want to know if you meant for Garibaldi to turn me over to Clarke’s men, or if that was just a side-effect.'

Bester frowned. ‘I never meant you any personal harm. I used Garibaldi as a means to an end. It worked… so much better than I could have foreseen. I hadn’t realised the depth of his feelings and his betrayal of you was a bonus, but it wasn’t part of the plan.’

‘You’re not sorry.’

‘No. What’s done is done. You’re alive. You should embrace that. What they did to you… it wasn’t personal.’

He saw Sheridan’s hand twitch, cautiously reached out to touch his mind, and felt a wave of warning in return. He retreated, even more curious and a little concerned.

‘I’ll get you released.’

That was a nice surprise, like this little visit. ‘Thank you, Captain… . And thank you for keeping Carolyn alive, such as she is.'

He was actually relieved to watch Sheridan leave.

*

Now and again, Stephen wished his life had taken him somewhere else, somewhere more predictable than Babylon 5. Somewhere less explosive.

A PPG shot took out a valve somewhere over his head and he ducked the resulting debris. 

‘This is a medical facility!’ But trying to reason with terrorists never did any good. The situation was bad enough, but when he heard one of the men call out, 

‘Hey, Thomas! You’ll never believe who we’ve bagged!’ His heart sank.

He glanced over to watch a second man dragging John out from the examination room. He’d hoped the captain could have kept his head down, but he was a familiar face, and a valuable hostage. He was thrown forward. Going by the looks of him, he’d already been subjected to a kicking, and Stephen reached to break his fall.

Thomas yelled at him. ‘Careful! He’s worth more than the rest of them put together. They’ll do anything to get their beloved captain back.’

'What is it that you want?’

Ignoring Stephen, Thomas reached down and pulled John back up onto his feet by his arm, twisting it in order to turn his prize to face him. John cried out, and Stephen knew it wasn’t just the jolt to his spine that was behind the sound of pain.

‘Stop!’

Thomas suddenly lost his balance, stumbled back, grip tightening on John’s arm as he stared at him in surprise. But whatever had happened, it wasn’t enough to dissuade him from using the captain as his number one bargaining chip.

‘Come on, Sheridan, time to play victim again.’

He was dragged over to the Babcom unit, where C&C was waiting to hear the telepaths’ demands before delivering the standard response. Stephen could see Susan’s expression change when she realised who they’d taken hostage.

'Commander Ivanova. As you can see, we have taken your MedLab facility. Anyone attempting to enter the facility by force will be killed. We want free and safe passage off this station, for us and for the telepaths barricaded in with Byron, without the intervention of Bester or his bloodhounds.'

‘You know as well as I do, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.' Stephen could hear the note of uncertainty in her voice.

'Fine. I might as well just kill your captain.'

Thomas pressed the muzzle of the PPG against the side of John’s head. ‘If you do that, we’ll come in shooting.’

‘If you won’t agree to get us off station, we’re dead anyway.’

'What good is a dead hostage?'

'What good is a live hostage if you won’t listen to us?'

The familiar whine of the PPG powering up seemed to fill the room.

Susan shouted, ‘Stop!’ Just in time. ‘All right. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll need time.’

‘You have two hours.’

‘If you hurt him, if you hurt anyone, I promise not a single one of you will get out alive.’

The screen went black. 

*

Garibaldi was on his way to the Zocalo when he found himself face to face with a fast moving assault team of security officers.

Zack was bringing up the rear, shouting orders as they went, and as he passed Michael grabbed him by his arm and pulled him to a halt.

‘Zack, what’s going on?'

'A group of Byron’s teeps have taken hostages in MedLab one.’ 

Michael instantly thought of Stephen. 'Have they made demands?'

'Yeah, they want off the station and they don’t want to see Bester’s ugly face on their way.'

Garibaldi shrugged, 'Well, you can’t blame them for that.'

'Susan’s handling the negotiations, we’re off to see if they’ve left any entrance unguarded.’

Michael let him go and headed up to C&C.

*

There was only one other patient in MedLab 1 that morning, a Pak’ma’ra, and the telepaths didn’t seem too keen to go near her. She’d been largely ignored. The station’s doctor and captain were enough for them.

Once they’d laid down their demands, Thomas had lost interest in John for a while. Stephen had managed to get him sitting up on his desk, checked his arm and shoulder, asked him if he’d been hurt anywhere else. John pulled up his sweater and showed Stephen the red mark on his abdomen. It was going to turn into another spectacular bruise, but a gentle touch to it reassured them both there was no deeper injury.

‘Are you doing okay?’

It was a stupid, pointless question, but John answered it anyway.

‘I’m so tired, Stephen. I don’t think I can do this anymore.’

‘Just hang in there, okay. For me?’

A nod, then John put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

*

'Susan!' Garibaldi rounded the corner into what was still technically John’s office to find her in conference with Lochley and Bester. He ignored them both. 'Zack told me what’s going on. What’s the status?'

Susan flinched. She’d hoped to keep Michael away from this, but then what had been the odds of that?

'They’re demanding safe passage and ships… or they’ll kill him.'

She expected Michael to go ballistic, but he was unexpectedly calm. 'Have they hurt him?'

'Not as far as we know… but he looked scared.'

'I’m not surprised, but he’ll hold it together.’ Susan stared at him. 'So what are we doing about it?'

'We were just discussing that.'

'I won’t allow them to leave,' Bester interjected. 'They’re criminals, Commander, and they’re terrorists. They should be treated as such.'

Michael eyed Bester thoughtfully. 'Maybe we should negotiate an exchange of hostage.'

Bester looked from Garibaldi to Susan like he wasn’t sure whether or not it was a joke. He scowled. 'That’s not funny.'

‘We’ve never negotiated with terrorists before, and we shouldn't start now. The only problem is... these people don’t seem like they’ve got much to lose.'

*

Two hours were almost up. Security had surrounded MedLab but they hadn’t tried to gain entry by force.

Thomas bore down on Stephen and John where they were sitting on the floor, backs to the wall. He held a PPG in each hand, one aimed at each of them, a nasty grin on his face. 'What’s going on with you two?' 

'I’m a doctor, he’s my patient.'

'He’s a pain in the ass. Clarke should have had him killed when he had the chance. Can’t think why he didn’t.' The grin curled into a cruel smile. 'I can see everything they did to you. You’re leaking all over the place, you know that?' He dropped into a crouch in front of John, PPGs rested on his knees.

‘You want me to show everyone here?'

Between gritted teeth, John ground out, ‘Try it.’

Stephen tensed, sensing the attempted attack, yet this time John seemed to be blocking him. Which was all sorts of impossible, but it was what Michael had said he’d seen in Lochley’s office. Thomas backed off, but instead of letting it go, he beckoned over a couple of the others and John didn’t stand a chance. 

Stephen cried out as an alternate reality sliced into his mind; a hard floor, the stench of vomit, skin drenched in sweat, clothes sticky and hot, pain in his stomach like he’d never felt before, burning in his mouth and throat, other places too, his whole body convulsing in pain.

He gasped as MedLab returned to his vision and the rest of it vanished like a puff of smoke. John was kneeling on the floor, throwing up what little he’d eaten for breakfast, the telepaths stepping back, away from him, jeering. All except for Thomas, who seemed angrier than before. He reached for John’s arm and yanked on it hard enough to dislocate a shoulder. John bit back a scream and Stephen saw blood on his lips as he stumbled to his feet.

In desperation, he shouted, ‘You’re going to kill him!’

Thomas glared down. ‘If I have to, I will. And I’ll fucking enjoy it.’

*

'We’re running out of time!'

Susan had run out of ideas. Bester refused to give in to the rogue telepaths and Lochley had no insight to offer them. Michael had disappeared twenty minutes ago to look into something and she hadn’t seen him since.

The Babcom unit behind her calmly reported an incoming message from MedLab. Time was up.

'Commander Ivanova. What’s your answer?'

She tried to stall him. 'You have to give us longer! Finding ships isn’t easy now, they’re in short supply.'

'Really? You seemed to find enough to blow up during the war with Earth.'

'Exactly!'

Thomas smiled. 'Do I take it that your answer is no, Commander?'

She hesitated just a moment too long.

Thomas stepped back and let go of John’s arm. The captain dropped to his knees and she saw how pale he was, the blood around his mouth. She felt something close to fury surge through her.

‘You fucking bastard! You’re nothing but a bunch of cowards!’ 

Thomas didn’t seem phased by her outburst.

'I obviously need to prove to you that we’re serious. It’s clear you think we’re bluffing and we won’t get anywhere if you keep thinking that.'

She watched, utterly helpless, as Thomas put a hand on the back of John’s head and forced it forwards and down, burying the end of the PPG in the side of his throat. 

'So to prove our point, we will execute your captain. And then you’ll have an hour before we execute the doctor.'

Susan heard the PPG whine over her own voice. It was too late. John was going to die, after everything he’d survived, all the pain and suffering he’d been through. His blood, the loss of his life, would be on all of them. 'Please don’t!’

She heard a single PPG shot and the screen went dead.

*

Michael knew Babylon 5 inside out, every access panel, every hatch, every air duct. He knew he could get into MedLab anyone knowing he was doing it until he dropped in unannounced.

But he knew his limits.

Five rogue telepaths wouldn’t think twice about adding him to their list of hostages, or even victims. But there was one man Michael knew wouldn’t be shot on sight.

He found Byron, and he found Lyta, and between them they talked the leader of the telepaths into crawling down half a mile of tight access tunnel to speak face to face with Thomas, to end the situation peacefully with no one getting hurt.

Unfortunately, that opportunity had passed. 

Byron dropped to his feet inside MedLab just as Thomas powered up the PPG pressed into Sheridan’s throat.

Without a word of warning, out of time, he opened fire, killing Thomas instantly and taking out the Babcom unit behind him.

'You seek to kill a man in my name?' Byron looked around them, horrified. 'When I would have no blood on my hands, you offer me a human sacrifice? Why? Why won’t you learn from me? Has nothing I’ve said, nothing we’ve been through, meant anything to you?'

Stephen half-ran, half-stumbled over to John’s side, still trying to shake the ghost memories of somewhere he’d never been. He reached him just in time to catch him as he toppled. 

‘Easy. Easy. I’ve got you.’

Desperate fingers clutched at Stephen’s jacket, wet eyes screwed closed. He was shaking so hard Stephen thought he might just come apart this time.

One of the telepaths stepped forward. 'We’ve lost, Byron, can’t you see that? We’ve failed. They’ll hand us over to Bester and he’ll kill us all, or worse. I refuse to go back to that, I’d rather die and I’d like to take a few mundanes with me!'

Challenging, Byron closed the gap between them. 'Why? What gives you the right to torture them as Psi Corp have tortured us?'

'They created Psi Corp! Their own fears incarnate!'

'Their fears, and ours.' Byron laid a hand on his comrade’s arm. 'We have a common enemy. This is not their fight, it’s ours.' He turned to address the others. 'I taught you that violence was wrong, that it achieved nothing, yet Thomas’ death had to be dealt by my own hand. You have caused me to abandon my own morals and beliefs because you were not strong enough to follow where I led. This is a sad day indeed.'

*

Susan screamed at the Babcom unit for what felt like hours until Zack came through on the link to say Thomas was dead but everyone else was okay. The situation wasn’t over, but Byron had promised no more violence and no more threats.

Michael joined them back in C&C just as Byron’s face appeared on the screen. 

'Commander Ivanova. I apologise for what’s been done. I shot Thomas, he’s dead. Captain Sheridan is-‘

And there was the reaction she’d been expecting two hours earlier. ‘Sheridan? John’s in there?!’

Susan glanced at him. ‘I thought you knew.’

‘You think I’d have been that calm if I’d known?’ He turned on Byron’s visage like he could punch the man through the screen.

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s with the good doctor. He’s been sedated. Thomas’ treatment of him wasn’t… kind, and for that I am truly sorry.’

‘I’m going to fucking shoot that guy again,’ Michael growled.

’Sheridan is being made comfortable in MedLab 2. Stephen’s agreed to stay here for the time being. I have another proposal, one which I believe will be easier to agree to.’

‘Before I agree to anything, Byron, let me speak to Stephen.’

‘Of course.’

After a few seconds, Stephen appeared looking stressed but physically uninjured. ‘Susan.’

‘Stephen, are you okay?’

He relaxed a fraction. ‘Yeah.’

‘Can we trust Byron?’

‘I think so. We’re okay here, and John’s been released to MedLab 2, but you need to get Jack there ASAP.’

Michael asked, ‘Why has he been sedated?’ 

‘Thomas scanned him, found a memory from Mars and pushed it out to the rest of the telepaths, to me. I think he’s hurt but I don’t know how badly. Get Jack down there and I’ll get to him as soon as I can.’

‘I will.’ Susan linked in to Jack and asked him to meet Michael in MedLab 2. 

Byron reappeared. ‘I give you my word that no one else will be harmed.’

*

MedLab 2 was busy. Jack knew he was there for John but he couldn’t see him. He did see Garibaldi barrel through the doors.

‘‘Michael, what’s going on…?’

‘There was a situation in MedLab 1. John’s been a hostage to the rogue telepaths for the last two hours.’

Jack’s eyes widened. ‘What? Where is he?’

‘Stephen said he’d been sedated and moved here.’

‘Captain Maynard?’ Both men turned in sync at Dr Hobbs' voice. ‘You’re here for Captain Sheridan. He’s in isolation. It got busy in here with MedLab 1 out of commission.’ She showed them into the small but quiet room. John was curled on his side on the bed. He had one arm wrapped around his middle and the other curled over his head. His face was white, red rings around his eyes. 

‘He was sedated him before he was brought here. He’ll sleep for a couple of hours, by which time the telepath situation should be resolved.’

‘Is he hurt?’

‘He had a dislocated shoulder, which Doctor Franklin reducted. He has a large bruise on the right side of his abdomen but no internal injury. Stephen was worried about possible head trauma, but we’ve done an MRI and there’s no sign of any damage. As soon as he wakes he should be fine to go back to his quarters.’

She left them with him, and as soon as the door slid closed, Michael turned and slammed his fist into the wall, instantly regretting it. ‘That really fucking hurt,’ he muttered, rubbing his grazed knuckles.

From John’s bedside, Jack was watching him. ‘I could have told you that. I did the same a few days ago.’

‘And before then?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What are you doing with all the… anger?’

'I’m storing it all up.' He turned back to John, wrapped his fingers around his hand and stroked his hair gently. 'When I get back into space, I’m going find a small, uninhabited planet and blow it to hell.'

*

Stephen was formally released - not that he was being held against his will, Byron was at pains to point out - three hours later. He found Jack and Michael in MedLab 2, John still unconscious. 

The doctor ran a couple of scans, examining his shoulder, head, abdomen and stomach, checking his vital readings. After he was satisfied that John hadn’t finally come apart, he brought Michael and Jack up to date on what was going on with the negotiations.

‘Tomorrow morning Byron’s going to lead all the telepaths into cargo bay 5. Susan and Zack will meet them there, and the telepaths involved in criminal activities aboard the station in the last couple of weeks will give themselves up. The rest will leave the station unhindered.'

‘What about the one who did this to John?’ Jack wanted to know. 

‘He’s dead,’ Stephen assured him. ‘Byron shot him. Saved John’s life.’

‘He shouldn’t have had to.’

‘I know.’ Stephen rubbed his eyes. He needed some sleep, or at the very least, caffeine. ‘Which of you is responsible for the damage to the wall?’

Jack pointed in Michael’s direction. ‘You wouldn’t catch me punching holes in your station.’

*

Jack watched him come round slowly, watched his eyes open and focus on him.

‘I’m sorry.’

The words were so unexpected, it took him a moment to process them. ‘What are you sorry for?’

‘You being here. Again.’

‘Johnny….’ He felt a wave of exhausted roll over him; he was so tired, god alone knew how John was feeling. ‘Do you remember what happened?’

‘Unfortunately.’ 

‘There’s no serious injury. You’ve got a nasty bruise on your abdomen, and you had a dislocated shoulder, but Stephen fixed that.’

John winced. ‘Yeah, I remember that.’ He closed his eyes again. ‘I thought I was going to die.’

Susan had said, ‘I thought they’d killed him. I thought he was dead.’ She’d said it three times, Jack had hugged her after the first time and she’d muttered it twice more into his shoulder. 

‘It wasn’t even about me. Wrong place, wrong time, and yet… he would have killed me if Byron hadn’t shot him first.’ He sighed, a soft huff of breath, and closed his eyes. ‘I was so scared. I don’t want to die.’

Aching for him, Jack squeezed his hand gently. ‘You’re alive. The guy who threatened you, he’s dead. You’re still beating the odds.’ Sapphire eyes opened, wet with unshed tears, but he’d brought a smile to John’s face.

‘Is Stephen okay?’

‘Yes. He’s around, if you want me to fetch him….’

‘No. I’m okay.’ He rubbed his abdomen with his right hand, wincing, withdrawing his hand, bringing it to the side of his head, to his throat, before letting it drop to the bed. Jack felt him try to lift his left hand then, the one under Jack’s own. He stilled, and looked straight into Jack’s eyes as he murmured, ‘I’ve noticed… you’re holding my hand a lot recently.’

Jack didn’t miss the unspoken query in the question, but it was one he didn’t have an answer to. 

‘You keep pulling on your IVs when you’re asleep.’ John’s expression alone told him what he thought of that explanation. ‘‘Fine. I keep holding your hand to reassure myself you’re still with me, given that a surprisingly large number of people seem to want to change that. If it’s okay with you, of course.’

John smiled. ‘No complaints here.’ There was so much more in those expressive eyes, but they were dancing around something neither of them could yet give a name to and Jack couldn’t help the feeling he would be taking advantage if he did.

*

The next time John woke, Stephen was double-checking the bruising on his abdomen. He tried to bat the doctor’s hands away until he realised where he was. After that he put up with the exam in stoic silence until he was given the all clear. Gingerly, he sat up, giving Stephen a look that belied his exhaustion, despite the enforced sleep.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Not sure how much more I can take, Doc.’ His tone was an attempt at jovial, but his eyes gave him away.

‘Not sure how much more the universe can throw at you.’

John at least cracked a smile. ‘Am I okay?’

‘Yes. You’re bruised and I’m sure you have a headache…?’ He nodded. ‘I’ll give you a cortical stim which should ease it for twenty four hours. Try to stay away from telepaths for a while.’

‘You’re a comedian as well as a doctor, how did I not know this?’

Stephen’s smile was genuine. ‘Humour’s good.’

‘Yeah.’

He prepped the hypo and John tilted his head so it could be injected into the base of his skull. ‘John… about what Thomas showed me…..’

His expression hardened. ‘That wasn’t his to take.’ 

‘I know. And I’m sorry I saw it.’

‘Me too.’

‘I know you’re talking it all through with Deloris. Seeing you after you got back from Mars, I could see how bad it had been. But experiencing it, just for a second, was worse than anything I’d imagined.’

There was nothing John could say to that and Stephen was saved from having to apologise by the door opening and Susan barging in.

‘Hey! This is a private-‘

‘I need to talk to you all.’

‘All?’

She looked around. ‘Where are his bodyguards?’

‘Bodyguards?’

‘Michael and Jack?’

Michael slipped into the room behind her. ‘Right here.’

‘As I was saying, this room is patients and doctors-‘

She ignored him. ‘Where’s Jack?’

‘I think he went to blow something up.’

Frowning, she let it go, glancing at the captain. ‘How are you feeling, Sir?’

He stared at her. ‘That’s the first time any of you have called me ‘Sir’ since I got back. Something’s up. What is it?’

‘Bester. He’s up to something.’

‘When is he not?’

‘He’s agreed to stay away from the telepaths in the morning but I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him. I think he’s got something planned. He agreed to it all way too quickly.’

Stephen watched John take a deep, steadying breath. ‘In which case, we need to be there to make sure he doesn’t pull anything. Make sure the guilty telepaths are arrested and the innocent ones leave unharmed.’

He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. ‘What did I just say no more than a minute ago?’

‘I don’t think you should be going anywhere near them.’ At least he and Susan saw eye to eye on that. ‘They’ve clearly got it in for you, and Bester sees a chance to take a pot shot-‘ They all recognised the expression on John’s face. ‘What?’ 

He looked directly at Michael. ‘A pot shot. If Bester does show up, there’ll be a brief skirmish, a firefight. Who knows what could happen.’

Michael picked up on his train of thought without missing a beat. ‘The aim of a PPG has never been all that accurate. Firefights are dangerous. People get killed.’ 

Stephen knew what they were thinking, already planning. He opened his mouth to protest it, and in that moment he could taste the burn of multiple toxins mixed with mustard. He bit his lip, and Michael saw it.

‘That bastard deserves everything that’s coming to him.’

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he thought Michael might be right. Bester wasn’t the one to torture John. But he’d been instrumental in putting him in the hands of Clarke’s men, allowing them to do what they did. The chances of John ever fully recovering were minimal.

‘So what’s the plan?’

Before John left MedLab, he thanked Stephen for taking care of him during the siege. ‘Back on Mars, they tried to take everything from me, systematically, impersonally, like I wasn’t a human being; just a… thing to be made into whatever they wanted me to be. Losing control like that, having it ripped away… it isn’t easy to come to terms with. I’m trying, but people like Thomas, like Bester, keep trying to stop me.’

‘Hey, I get it. But is that what this is really about? Taking back control?’

John shrugged. ‘If Bester doesn’t show, doesn’t break the agreement, he stays perfectly safe.’

‘That’s actually not what’s bothering me.’

‘I’ll be okay. I just need this to be over.’

‘And you think.. doing this will accomplish that?’

‘I think it’ll help.’ John stopped at the door. ‘Probably best Jack doesn’t find out about this until it’s done.’

‘Great. So if you’re killed, I’m the one he takes it out on.’

‘Bester isn’t going to kill me.’

‘He won’t just let you shoot him.’

‘He’ll never see it coming.’

*

They met in Cargo Bay 5 as agreed, Susan standing side by side with Lochley for the first time since the EarthGov liaison officer had come aboard. Behind them, remaining in the background, John and Michael.

Security was posted throughout the bay. And at o-nine-hundred, the telepaths arrived as a group, led by Byron.

All went as planned, and Susan thought maybe they’d been wrong, maybe something might work out right for a change.

Then Bester arrived. And everything went to hell.

John and Michael found shelter behind a stack of crates. Between the slats, across from them, they could see Psi-Corp’s bloodhounds hunkered down with their backs against the hull. Bester was with them, bringing up the rear. They were all concentrated on Byron and his telepaths on the far side of the cargo bay.

As the whines and blasts of the PPGs exploded into the air all around them, John tapped Michael on the shoulder and pointed over. Now or never. Michael nodded once and together they moved silently around to the edge of the stack. 

Holding the PPG exactly the way he’d been taught at the academy, lining up the sight so he could aim and fire in one movement, John rose steadily to his feet. The moment he stepped out, Bester was likely to notice him and then it would be shoot or die.

With a glance at Michael, he moved. To his surprise, Bester didn’t look up, didn’t seem to sense the danger he was in. Michael stood too, his body pressed into John’s side. Sheridan glanced at him, startled, before he felt Michael’s hand on his where it held the weapon. He thought for a crazy moment he was going to stop him, but instead he felt Michael’s index finger push between his own and the trigger. Another glance, and they understood each other.

In the next moment, John re-aimed, and felt something give in his mind. 

Bester’s head snapped around. He saw them. His eyes widened, but before he could bring his own PPG around, John tightened his finger and Michael’s fired the shot. It hit the right side of Bester’s head, cut a flaming path through his brain and exiting out through the back of his skull. He was dead before his body hit the deck, but not before John felt a surprised but almost overwhelming since of pride pushed into his mind.

Had an autopsy been performed later, it would have concluded that there was no way any of the rival telepaths could have fired the the shot that killed him. But an autopsy wasn’t ordered. That was Dr Franklins purview and he didn’t see the need. Three other psi-cops, and one of Byron’s men, had also been killed in the fight. In war, there were always casualties. 

*

Jack found John sitting on a bench in the upper observation deck, admiring the Agamemnon as she prepared for departure. He said his name before dropping one hand gently to his right shoulder. John didn’t turn around.

‘She looks good for a ship that limped home not too long ago.’

Jack perched on the bench at John’s back and rested his chin on his friend’s shoulder. ‘She does indeed.’

After a minute or two, John let his weight fall back against him, craning his neck around to meet his gaze. Hesitantly, Jack wrapped one arm around his waist, keeping it loose, letting it be whatever John needed it to be. 

‘Are you sure you don’t want to take back command?’

He pretended to think about it before shaking his head. ‘I'm absolutely sure.’

‘When will you be back?’

‘A week, two at most.’ Even that short time felt like a wrench. But Jack needed time to sort a few things out, hand in his resignation. ‘Make sure they take good care of you. And try to take care of yourself.’ John had told him about his involvement in Bester’s death after the fact. Had he told him before, he thought he might have gone a little crazy. But given John was still alive, and still in the the same number of pieces; all he could do was hope it was over.

John sat up and shifted around until they were face to face. ‘Thank you, for your support during the battle, for being with me on Earth, for coming here, staying… for everything. I owe you more than I could ever hope to repay.’

Jack reached up, combed his fingers into John’s hair and gently brought their foreheads together. ‘You don’t owe me anything. I love you, Johnny.’

He felt the deep, stuttering breath leave John’s chest. ‘I love you too.’

*

Michael found him an hour later, as the jump gate activated and the Agamemnon ploughed through, vanishing from sight.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey yourself. Are you okay?’ John nodded, not trusting himself to speak just at that moment. ‘He’ll be back before you know it.’ Another nod. ‘I booked us time on the baseball field. Thought some batting practice might be a way of working off some tension.’ John didn’t respond immediately. ‘I know you’re going to miss him.’

‘Something’s changed between us, and I’m not sure what to do with it.’

Standing at his side, Michael gazed into the space beyond the station, the infinite universe. Some days it made him feel no more important than a speck of dust on a mantlepiece. Other days, he felt like a god, able to fly amongst the stars. Recently, he’d been more humble than arrogant. 

‘I’ve always thought the best thing is to wait to see what happens next.’

John chuckled, his shoulders relaxed and he seemed to come back into the present. ‘Sorry. I’m fine, really. Not sure how good I’ll be at batting. I’m not certain I’ll be able to lift the bat.’

‘How about we find out? Then I’ll buy you dinner and if you’re up to it, you can tell me more of those interesting stories Jack seems to think you have.’

Together, they turned their backs on the rest of the universe, just for a short while, hoping it would let them be.


End file.
